


Love is blind

by PutinsNostrils



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: "You Go Too Fast For Me", Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Being followed by cameras, Bisexual Crowley (Good Omens), Body Worship, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Dating Shows, Engagement shenanigans, Falling In Love, Fears of Commitment, Fluff, Frottage, Genderqueer Crowley (Good Omens), I've been watching too much Netflix, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Oral Sex, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reality TV, Rimming, Sex, Smut, You don't have to know the show at all, gay pre-honeymoon in southern france, love is blind, now with art!, oh boys buckle up, overuse of weird similes and metaphors whoops, they really love each other, they're just idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:21:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23864455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PutinsNostrils/pseuds/PutinsNostrils
Summary: Divorce lawyer Anthony J. Crowley feels like completely losing his mind when impulsively agreeing to participate in one of Reality TV’s latest dating shows: A new romantic experiment in which you can’t see the person you’re talking with eye to eye until you propose to one another.By no means does he expect to fall for the gentle voice of Aziraphale - hard, at that - and much less to end up being engaged to him.The way to the actual aisle, though, is turning out to be a rather rocky road.-Aziraphale and Crowley meet in a dating show and really try to make it work.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 281
Kudos: 321
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs





	1. An angel's voice

**Love is blind – Episode 1 – introduction/confessional – “Anthony” – Take 01**

_”My name is-“_

// _”Wait, wait. I’m so sorry, Anthony, but would you please take off the sunglasses? They’re-…yes exactly. Did the styling apartment give you these? I gotta talk to Jenna about this.”_

_”Those are mine actually. I’m, uh, a little sensitive to light.”_

// _”Ah, well, you see, we just think the audience will view you as more…approachable without them. Right, just like this! Who wouldn’t cheer for those gorgeous eyes?”_

**Love is blind – Episode 1 – introduction/confessional – “Anthony” – Take 02**

_”My name is Anthony Crowley. I’m 36 and I’m a divorce lawyer from-“_

// _”Anthony, dear, sorry, um…We don’t actually think you should reveal that just yet._

**Love is blind – Episode 1 – introduction/confessional – “Anthony” – Take 03**

_”My name is Anthony Crowley. I’m 36 and I’m a lawyer specialised in family law-“_

**Love is blind – Episode 1 – introduction/confessional – “Anthony” – Take 06**

_”My name is Anthony Crowley. I’m 36 and I’m a soul-sucking corporate piece of sh-“_

**Love is blind – Episode 1 – introduction/confessional – “Anthony” – Take 08**

_”My name is Anthony Crowley. I’m 36 and I’m a lawyer from London. For the majority of my life, I’ve been looking for that special someone but I suppose they’ve got a pretty strong hide-and-seek game going on. I’m just excited to get to know someone on a, well, deeper level. Love’s been…surely an up and down for me but I think I’m finally ready to just meet someone to spend the rest of my life with. Definitely wouldn’t have said that a few years ago. It is kinda scary, really, to let down your guard and offer someone everything you are and aren’t. I’m not afraid of…falling for someone. I’m just afraid of the ground sometimes.“_

\---

Crowley’s heart was pounding heavily in his chest as he was starring at the door in front of him with the same sense of nasty suspicion creeping up his spine that a lamb must experience when woken up at night and being led to the slaughterhouse.

Hand in hand with the almost blindingly bright lamps around, camera lenses drilled their hot focus into the back of his head. Before his eyes, the doorknob seemed to multiply into three hazy versions of itself that were all swimming in a mean, mocking knob circle.

Right, why did he agree to this again?

When receiving this dubious private message on his Tinder account that had told him that some sneaky marketing lot had scouted and deemed him _genuine and special_ enough to be a possible candidate in a never before seen Reality TV love experiment, Crowley had had a good fit of laughter and deleted the app afterwards.

It had needed a whole wedding invite from his cousin that same evening to not only catapult him into a state of wounded pride that was solely to be kissed better by watching classic romcoms, drooling over young Colin Firth while only wearing a terry cloth bathrobe and drinking wine with closed shutters-

No, it had also made him re-download the dating application and reply to that shady text.

He’d be playing part in an unprecedented, ultimate search of love. Flirting with people without ever showing his face to them. Getting to know them without any actual repercussions. He could do that. It wasn’t like he was actually going to marry someone.

And to be honest, the mere idea, the chance to meet someone nice and embarrass his entire family in front of the whole world at the same time seemed too great of an opportunity not to seize.

Standing in front of this door now, though, was real and not just some rebellious, late adolescent, maybe even hopeful fantasy of his. The cameras and the production members behind them were real. And the person in the pod linked to his, eager to get to know and love him, definitely was real too.

Crowley gulped.

How real that person actually turned out to be only fully dawned on him as he finally passed the door and was greeted by a grating sing-song of a welcome.

“Hello there!”

For a few moments, Crowley felt unable to respond. His brain rebooted like an ancient computer; incoherent beeps and bleeps resounded behind his eyes as if his head was nothing more but an empty storage room.

The pod itself was a rather small, octagonal room which just as well could have been mistaken for a poor student’s minimalist apartment if it wasn’t so well lit: The walls were lined with beige granite, cosy orange light peeking out from the open joinings. In the centre of the room, there was a cushy looking couch complemented by two decorative pillows and a crème wool blanket draped over it.  
But the true heart of the room was the blue, sparkling wall of frosted glass across the door. The wall that separated this pod from the other. The wall that separated him from the other person, impatient for Crowley’s answer by now.

“Hello? Is somebody there?”

The woman’s voice was simultaneously bubbly and scratchy, making the sound of a dog choking on a squeaky toy whenever she spoke up.

“Ah, uh…ngk, yeah. Sorry.”

“Oh, no harm’s done! I’m Olivia!”

Crowley slumped into the couch, let himself be absorbed by its softness for a few centimetres and finally opened his notebook to write down the name of the woman he just met. He cleared his throat.

“Nice to meet you, Olivia,” he then said, oddly aware of his own voice and breathing. He continued to ramble: “I’m Crowley. Well, it’s, uh, actually Anthony but I mostly go by my surname. To be perfectly honest, only my parents call me Anthony, I think.”

“Oh,” the stranger across the wall exhaled before constraining a laugh. “But this isn’t because of some edgy parental issues, now, is it?”

The pen in Crowley’s hand came to a halt halfway through writing the words _”first impression”_.

“Um,” he made, very intelligently, and casually blew a raspberry. “Pff, ‘course not.”

“Good, oh, good! You see, I had this ex a few months ago who just wouldn’t _ever_ shut up about his parents. I get it, parents can sometimes really put a damper on you, but in the end, they’re your parents. They want what’s best for you, and you gotta respect them. I mean, that’s just a core value a somewhat decent person should have, isn’t it?”

Crowley looked down onto his notebook.  
Without hesitation, he crossed out Olivia’s name from the page.

\---

“So, Crowley, tell me a little about you. What do you look like?” Christian asked him. His voice was like a sudden wave; an adverse tide that got your socks wet.

Crowley chuckled sceptically amused.

“Isn’t the whole point of this _experiment_ that we don’t know what the other looks like?” Crowley pointed out with a playful purr that challenged the other man to coax the information out of him nonetheless.

“Touché. But…Well, there surely have to be some deal breakers for you.”

That wasn’t quite what he wanted to hear but it did pique Crowley’s interest in a whole different way.

“So? What are your personal so-called _’deal breakers’_ then?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want my partner to look…unhealthy if you get what I mean. _Unfit_.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and scribbled something down.

“But you aren’t, are you?” Christian inquired.

“Hm, well, depends on how one might see it,” Crowley answered unfazed, looking down on his lanky legs sprawled out on the couch. _Shallow piece of shit._

“But you don’t sound like you’re…”

“Like I’m what?”

“… _fat_.”

“How the fuck does someone even sound fat?” it gushed out of Crowley and he already saw some pitiful little intern censoring him in front of his inner eye.

Christian uttered an appeasing laugh. “I’m just kidding.”

“Right. Are there more of those deal breakers for you?”

“Oh no, Crowley, listen, I didn’t want to give you the feeling I’m some kind of superficial asshole. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with having a type or characteristics that just turn you off. And that specific…body type just doesn’t do it for me.”

“I s’pose.”

“It’s not like I have this absolute rigid set of unearthly standards. I’m just looking for basic stuff. Someone healthy. Good hygiene. I mean, I bet it’s not like you’re morbidly obese or dishevelled...”

“No, but-…”

“Oh, or ginger.”

Dramatically, Crowley snapped his notebook shut.

\---

If he had to guess, Crowley would say he had already spent years in here. Those years would turn out to be eight hours but they were eight hours of constant socialising. There were no distractions apart from the occasional breaks, and his phone had been taken from him as well.  
Even though Crowley didn’t consider himself the most extroverted person per se, he knew he was a master in the arts of pretending and a pretty great conversationalist if needed. But even his social storage was running on low, and so when he flopped into the last couch for the day, as the producers had told him beforehand, his eyelids fluttered dangerously heavy in his face.

Up until this point, he didn’t quite know what to make out of all this yet. It wasn’t like Crowley was some bitter pessimist allergic to anything remotely romantic. He even had made two connections today that surprised him with their depth and had him curious for more:

For example, there was Paul, a 28-year-old florist from Oxfordshire who met him only with kindness and even laughed in quite the delighted way about Crowley’s eccentric antics regarding the rather vocal care of his plants. Paul’s voice was like sickly sweet honey, the kind that flies gratefully suffocated in.

Then, there was Juno. Juno was absolutely scary with her voice of thunder and a tongue fast as lightning but equally fascinating; talking to her felt as if he was watching a white storm rage through a secure window. She was a tattoo-artist, restored vintage cars for a hobby and volunteered as a nude model for art classes. Needless to say, they had a lot to talk about.

He had made those connections, and as mentioned before, was genuinely interested in deepening them but the idea of falling in love with either of them still was far from being realistic. There was no point in denying the power of both physical and sexual attraction, the playful mingling of hormones in the air, the effect of a bright smile in the flesh. He was willing to try nonetheless.

But by now, Crowley felt absolutely worn out and almost a little sorry for the person in the room next to him.

As he heard the other pod’s door click, he stifled a yawn and massaged his aching temples.

“Hey there. Sorry in advance, ‘m really tired and probably good for nothing right now,” he mumbled, slightly slurring his words.  
Aware of the impression he must be giving right now, he pulled one of the pillows over his head, came to terms with the grave he just dug for this potential relationship and closed his eyes.

“I can hardly blame you. Admittedly, I find myself to be rather jaded as well.”

Crowley was _awake_.  
He couldn’t recall the last time he’s been this awake.  
In the history of being awake, there probably has never been a person more awake than him right now.

Immediately, he pulled the cushion from his face and sat up so straight, it made his spine crack.

“Huh…?”

“Ah, err, yes…My name is Aziraphale. With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

“…Aziraphale.”

“No, that’s my name.”

“No- Yes, of course, I-…Ngk.” Crowley groaned, desperately rummaging in his head for anything meaningful to say. His name would be a great start but Crowley was completely knocked out of his stride and so he just continued to make incoherent noises. “That…uh, your name. It’s rather unusual I’d say. Sounds-”

“Yes, it can be quite a burden. A few conversations ago I’ve been asked if my parents were hippies,” the voice said, intonating every syllable with precision so clear it made the statement even testier.

“What? You didn’t receive your name in some cultish ritual under the moonlight as the shaman baptized you with creek water and the whole community cheerfully clicked their tongues?” Crowley teased. Teasing was simple, quicker, easier than acknowledging the absolute chaos that was Crowley’s mind.

Aziraphale tutted at that but there was the slightest hint of a smile lying in the sound.

“No,” Crowley then exhaled, staring at the ceiling as his heartbeat whooshed in his red ears, “what I meant to say was that it sounds somewhat…angelic.”

For a second there wasn’t the slightest peep coming from the other side, and Crowley wondered if Aziraphale had secretly left.

“Hey? I’m sorry if that was inappro-…”

“No, no, it wasn’t, I promise!” the reply came quickly but it’s vigour ebbed away just as fast. Aziraphale took a deep breath. “It’s just…Well, if you must know.” His breath hitched with a nervous chuckle. “No one has ever said something that nice about my name.”

And with that, the dam in Crowley’s chest completely broke and opened its gates for his heart to run wild inside him, threatening to jump out of his throat altogether and bounce into the stranger’s lap.

Neither common sense nor life experience could help Crowley explain what had happened as soon as Aziraphale had begun talking but some peculiar spark inside him had been ignited and it had turned into a devouring, wildly swirling inferno with the next noise Aziraphale made:

He laughed.

“So, what’s your name then?”

The sound was mesmerising, a concert of delicate bells cascading down a polished staircase. He almost forgot to answer.

“Crowley. It’s actually Anthony Crowley, but ‘m not that much of a fan of my first name.”

Again, there was a brief pause, and then Aziraphale delivered Crowley from his tension with the softest of hums. “Crowley it is, then.” The redhead heard the rustling of paper, the tip of a fine liner pen kissing it with a scratch. “Crowley.”

There was something decadent about the way Aziraphale let Crowley’s name melt between his teeth, relishing but reverent. About the way the letters moved on Aziraphale’s tongue; starting from the back of his mouth, cheekily dancing to the very tip and taking a deep dive back as if he was enjoying a meal with every fibre, every last taste bud.

The most beautiful thing about the way he enunciated his name was the lack of judgement, the respect for his decision. The gentleness that implicated Crowley’s name was something of worth.

“So, what is it that you do for a living?” Crowley asked him, unable to sit still any longer and already pacing up and down the room like a restless housecat.

“I own a bookshop in Soho.”

“So you’re from London too! Are you sure that we’ve never seen each other?” His heart was racing by now, pushing his head to quickly match a face to this voice-

“I don’t think so,” Aziraphale mused. “I’m positively convinced I’d remember you if that were the case.”

Crowley grinned to himself, glad about the fact that Aziraphale wasn’t able to see him – until he remembered the cameras. Right, right, all of this was being recorded. His face was flushed by a rich red.

“So? How come?”

“I…” Aziraphale’s embarrassment was tangible through the wall connecting them. “I just…I can’t quite explain it with any rational argument, it’s rather…it’s something I’m feeling.”

Crowley’s breath stopped for a second in which his incisor teeth came crashing down onto his bottom lip. He couldn’t compare his voice with any sound he’s ever heard, with any picture he’s ever seen. _It was something he was feeling_. Transcendently. It felt like coming home in winter, being greeted by a crackling fire and two forgiving arms pulling him into a cathartic embrace. It felt like the early sun’s vitalising kiss; like the calm, light-blue moon’s morning promise of returning at night. It felt like heartache, like breaking him into pieces and composing him together again in one breath of air.  
It was an angel’s voice.

“Bookshop, huh?” he changed the subject. “If I’m being honest, I can’t remember the last time I’ve read a book. I used to enjoy reading now and then but, well, by now it’s a pretty time-consuming thing.”

“That’s a pity. I think I brought about five books with me when I came here.”

“Ah, distracting you from all the concentrated romance and courting?”

“Well, actually I decided to revisit some of Jane Austen’s works. It’s been ages since I’ve read _Pride and Prejudice_.”

Crowley smirked. “I recently binge-watched the entirety of the _Bridget Jones_ movies, does that count for anything?”

Aziraphale gasped appalled. “Oh you foul fiend, don’t you dare! Until my last breath, I will fight against any of those ragged comparisons. Miss Elizabeth Bennett is an outstandingly bright young woman whereas Bridget Jones can’t even recognise the country of Germany on a map! I admit it’s quite the clever move to cast Colin Firth as Darcy in both movies and yet! I’m shocked you’d even imply any resemblance!”

This time, Crowley couldn’t help himself but laugh and it grew even more cordial as Aziraphale joined in despite the prior consternation in his voice.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry if I got a little…passionate there.”

“Don’t apologize. Nowadays, people couldn’t be less passionate about anything. To see someone get genuinely excited, I…for what it's worth, I think that’s something really charming.”

“I’m…glad you feel that way. Would you believe me if I told you my mother once told me I shouldn’t be that much of… _myself_ when going to a date? She said it would scare people away if I would unleash all that enthusiasm already at the very beginning.”

Crowley’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“That’s a terrible thing to say to anyone, let alone your son. I’m sorry, Aziraphale.”

“It’s fine. It’s been years, actually, and she probably already forgot we’ve ever had this conversation. Somehow, it still stuck with me. It’s funny how things that seem so insignificant to us can mean so much to others.”

“Still, I’m sorry. I can assure you, there’s nothing wrong about talking about the things you love. I can be like that, too, you know?”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. It’s mostly music for me. Big _Queen_ fan, me. Alright, I’m telling you this only because it’s you – and this better gets cut out from all the footage here or I won’t be any pleasure to be around – but…when they released this movie, _Bohemian Rhapsody_ , I probably cried five times. Sometimes, I randomly think about it when I’m standing in lines or sitting in my office and feel my eyes tear up.”  
Aziraphale chuckled.  
“Seriously, I just gave myself goosebumps again.”

“To be honest, I haven’t had the pleasure of watching that one yet.”

“What?!” Crowley sat up again. “Are you living under a stone? No, Sir, that’s something we’re going to change. As soon as we’re outta here, you’re visiting me at my place, and I’ll be introducing you to this piece of cinematic poetry.”

“I’d like that. Would you take me out for dinner beforehand?”

“Anything you’d want. We could go to some posh place, get ourselves a nice dessert as well.” Crowley’s throat became drier and drier with every word. “And afterwards, I’ll drive you to mine. Open the good Scotch I’ve been keeping for the right occasion. We’ll sit on my black leather sofa, watch the movie.”

“Will you be crying?”

“Probably. But I’ll be making up some stupid excuse.”

“Hm, I’ll acknowledge your excuse but I will be smiling about it nonetheless.”

“It’s probably going to be something about allergies. Or maybe I’ll have something in my eyes.”

“As long as you will be consistent in your lies, I won’t have a reason to subtly tease you about it.”

“Oh, you’re a saint, Aziraphale.”

“I’ll remind you of your words when I’ll be handing you my handkerchief.”

“Of course, you’re carrying a handkerchief around.”

“You’re saying that like you aren’t.”

“In the year of our Lord 2020?”

“Oh shush it.”

Crowley cackled, facing the wall separating them with dimples crinkling in his narrow face.

For a little while, silence fell between them. The calm, peaceful kind. The kind old friends bathed in. Again, Crowley bit his lip.

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I’m glad you’re being yourself.”

Crowley didn’t know if he was thankful for the glass wall or if he wanted to smash it with his bare hands.

“Thank you.” Pure honesty was gently woven into the soft whisper, and it tortured him with the weight of a thousand tiny heart attacks on his chest. “I mean it.”

“No problem.”

“I really enjoyed myself tonight. I’m going to see – well not see…I’ll hear from you again, right?”

 _Stay cool._ “Yeah.” _He knows you’re not cool, you buffoon._ “Me too. Enjoyed myself. Very much so. Yup.” _For fuck’s sake._ “Looking forward to talking to you again.”

Aziraphale blessed him one last time with the chime of bells that was his laughter.

“Good night, Crowley.”

“Night, Angel.”

Crowley didn’t realise what he’s just said until Aziraphale’s door clicked shut again. Even as he did, he knew it wasn’t something he was ever going to take back anyway.

This was going to be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this beautiful commission was drawn by the amazing @freedomattack_thereal on IG, please please please check her out!!! ♥


	2. The Origin of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY!!!  
> So!!! sorry!!! it!!! took!!! so!!! long!!!  
> I was so unsure about my planning and discarded my drafts so many times and ahhh. I thought about merging this chapter with the next one but then it didn't feel right and well.  
> On the bright side, the next chapter's almost ready to go up, so you don't have to wait that long this time!  
> ANYWAY, ENJOY THIS MESS

**DAY 2 OF EXPERIMENT**  
_36 DAYS UNTIL WEDDINGS_

Crowley didn’t deem it possible to be delivered from all earthly plight with the simple crooning of two syllables.  
It couldn’t be. He was a brooding ball of sizzling anxiety. A restless tiger pacing up and down in his self-inflicted, octagonal cage. Simply put, a fidgety mess that hadn’t had any sleep last night nor one quiet minute in its own head. 

And yet, it happened, and all it needed was a sing-song of one _“Hello!”_. 

All it needed to end the constant replay of their first conversation inside his head, to blow away the nauseating fog of second-guessing himself was one word.

It took one word to recognize Aziraphale. And about three seconds of going through the weight of numbness – the icky, blank sense of missing gravity you feel dropping inside your stomach when you stumble in the dark – before Crowley realized it was just calmness waiting for him on the other side. 

“Hello!” Aziraphale said and so, Crowley finally exhaled. 

“Hey.” The reply came a little delayed but was quickly made up for with a genuinely relieved chuckle. “It’s you again.”

“Oh, Crowley!” 

Aziraphale’s voice was cracking with surprise, the best kind. The cautious flash of gratitude as a loved one hands you a tea without being asked to; the settling warmth of knowing someone thought about you sparkling in your tummy. 

“I’m positively delighted to hear from you. I was a little worried they wouldn’t pair us up all too soon again.”

“Someone must have had a fun time with me.” 

“I just felt dreadful knowing I’d let you off the hook before changing your mind about fine literature.”

“I’ll be here all week.” 

“I certainly hope so.” 

“Will probably take longer, though. I’m a lost cause.” 

“You’re not," Aziraphale tutted. "Also, don’t worry, I’m more than willing to try.” 

Crowley smiled into the palm hiding his mouth. 

After their conversation yesterday, the producers had given him a list to narrow down the five people Crowley could see himself spend more time with. In the end, it was their special – and eye-rolling – emphasis on the number of five that had made him scribble down more than one name. A name so hauntingly beautiful, it demanded to be said out loud and not just whispered when lying in bed at night. 

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you’re here now,” Crowley sighed, facing the wall separating them with weary eyes. “I’ve had some terribly exasperating people talk to me before. I mean, I’ve probably been equally rude to them at some point but, well. I just need someone to revive my, huh, belief in human decency again.”

“I didn’t take you for such a misanthrope.” 

“No, I don’t hate people. I just get reasonably – at least, in my opinion, reasonably – riled up when being accused of having no soul or empathy.” 

“Why would someone say something this cruel to you?” Aziraphale asked, pitiful at first but the streak of cheekiness following made the corners of Crowley’s mouth dance upwards again. “Considering we’ve been here for two days only that’s a masterly performance of either observation on their behalf or cynical bluntness from you, but it’s making me wonder nonetheless.” 

“We were just talking about our jobs. And as I told her about what I do for a living, she began to question how I’d be sleeping soundly at night.” 

“So, what is it that you’re doing? You’re making it sound like you’re stealing and selling blind orphans’ organs.”

“You wanna take a guess?”

“Admittedly, I could see you in so many different fields. Let me think for a second.” 

“To dispel your concerns, it has nothing to do with selling organs.”

“What a relief. But, hm, you’d make a terrific salesperson. There’s something so tempting and suave about your voice, almost as if you’d make me buy a bucket of sand in the Sahara.”

Crowley bit his bottom lip again, catching the breathless laugh before it could showcase his flattered embarrassment. 

“You’d get a mate’s discount.” 

Aziraphale laughed. “Now, which one of us is the saint?” 

“Definitely not me.” Crowley sighed. “No, I’m a lawyer, primarily specialised in family law. You know, adoption, child protective proceedings, uh… _divorce_ and such.” 

“I suppose your date was focused on the last part of that.” 

“She was picturing me as the Grim Reaper of love. As if I’d be having fun, rubbing my dirty hands at night as I’m sardonically planning the next tragic relationship’s demise.” Crowley’s eyes fluctuate between the floor and the frosted glass. “Of course, it’s no fun. But on the other hand, it’s also no blood and thunder.” 

Aziraphale wasn’t making a sound.

“She even asked me if I was actually interested in making a deep connection here since I surely must have lost all my hope for love anyway,” Crowley mumbled, playing with a loose thread coming from the wool blanket on the couch. At this point, Aziraphale still wasn’t talking and it caused Crowley’s knees to bounce nervously up and down. “Now that I think about it…It doesn’t quite count as selling, but one time a client asked me if he could get the kidney he once had donated to his ex-spouse back.” 

“But…you still got it, right?”

“His kidney?”

“Hope.” 

Crowley’s brows furrowed at the quick change of atmosphere that was thickly coating his tongue and his stomach’s insides, metallic and heavy, as if he just swallowed a few ounces of lead. 

“I think…as soon as an ex-couple steps into my office, it’s too late for them. There’s no space left for romance or some last grand gesture in an attempt to save things, just like there’s no sense in giving up smoking when you’re already lying on the undertaker’s table. There are just two hurt people out to get the other in the nastiest way. But that’s humans to you, we’re at our worst behaviour when we’re aching.” He felt his dry tongue stick to his incisor teeth. “This job doesn’t give me an impression of love. If anything, it’s teaching me how to do better in my own relationships.” 

Again, silence fell between them.  
By now, Crowley’s poor lips were treated like a chewy steak by his teeth. 

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” he chuckled a little frantically. 

“I’m just thinking.”

“A dangerous pastime.” 

“I’m just thinking,” Aziraphale repeated slowly, probably still pondering on how to express his following thoughts, “about how difficult this- how strong _you_ must be. I don’t think I could face all this…negativity every day. A divorce is such a drastic, crushing change in one’s life and still, so, _so_ desperately needed sometimes. You’re doing unbelievably important work, Crowley, and no one should tell you otherwise.”

Crowley found his mouth to be agape, constantly opening and closing as a fish dropped on land. 

No one has ever told him he was strong, much less that he was _important_. For years that have felt like an agonizing eternity, he had been working in his parent’s agency, his own parental purgatory, and not once, not one single time, has there ever been one word of encouragement, one _itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny_ indication that they were proud of him in the slightest way. And to get this support, this pathetically craved comfort so selflessly gifted by a man he only knew for two days felt like a slap in the face. 

“Nah, it’s nothing big. Sure, I originally had good intentions but at this point, I’m just an overpaid kindergartener. I watch people argue about tea sets worth 20 pounds and charge them 350 the hour.”

“My point stands,” Aziraphale said, audibly pleased with himself. He knew what Crowley had been trying to do. And the fact that he wouldn’t allow him to tear himself down any more only made Crowley’s heart race with the speed of light. 

“But, oh dear me…to come back to that kidney story, please, I need to know.”

**DAY 3 OF EXPERIMENT**  
_35 DAYS UNTIL WEDDINGS_

“Oh, no no no! Please, stop! I’m-“ 

Aziraphale’s hiccupping, lightheartedly tearful protest was yet to be interrupted by another fit of contagious laughter; a vibrating baritone caught in a mesmerising loop of unrestrained joy. Crowley knew better than to stop. Every second he was making Aziraphale laugh was a second spent best. 

“Now, why would I do that?”

“You-…Oh, my, if we continue this, I fear my waistcoat’s going to pop…!”

“You’re wearing a waistcoat?”

“Of course!” Aziraphale snuffled and took a few deep breathes before maintaining a shaky composure. “This is a rendezvous, isn’t it? I want to look my best for you.”

Crowley shook his head, smiling so painfully affectionate he felt his heart tugging on his chest. 

“I’m sure you’d even look great in trackie bottoms, Angel.” 

“You keep saying that. _Angel._ ”

“Well, yeah, because it’s true. You are one. Out of this world.” 

“Hmm,” Aziraphale hummed. Making the sweet guttural sound you’d make while closing your eyes and relishing a sun-kissed fruit freshly picked from a bush. 

“You like me saying it.”

He hummed again but then broke into a delightedly bashful giggle.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” Crowley demanded softly, happily worn out from all their conversing. 

“I just…I’d love to see you. For the little things.” 

“Such as?”

“To see the way your hair falls when you talk.” His words were genuine, mellow and so, so warm. “The way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. How you dress, whether you’re a bowtie or tie kind of man.”

Crowley snorted. “You wouldn’t ever catch me wearing a bowtie.” 

The hint of playful testiness made asking Aziraphale about his preferences redundant: “so, what _are_ you wearing then?” 

“I didn’t know we had already reached that level of flirting.” 

Coming from the other side, there was the bubbly sound of someone exhaling sharply into their wine glass.

“You fiend, I honestly wanted to know!” 

“Alright, alright! To be honest, it’s nothing out of the ordinary.” Crowley looked down on himself. “Black, tight trousers. Grey V-neck shirt. I, um-“ He fought with himself for a second. “Painted my nails yesterday. Black, too.”  
Gnashing his teeth he tried to think of more, something, just something to distract from the last detail.  
Right, there was something, right before his eyes. Quite literally.  
“Oh, yeah. And the sunglasses.” 

“Sunglasses? Ever so the mysterious gentleman?”

“That,” Crowley laughed humourlessly, “and my sensitivity to light.”

“Oh, Crowley, I’m sorry.” 

“No, no, it’s not _that_ bad.”

“Have you been born with it?”

Crowley shifted on the couch, gnawing on the insides of his cheeks. At least his lips got a break. 

“No, there had been a little…accident. It’s a stupid story, really. Fell down the stairs.” 

“You don’t have to talk about it.” Aziraphale’s voice was so understanding towards him, it was ridiculous, almost mocking to Crowley’s twisted perception. But Aziraphale wasn’t his parents, his ex-partners or one of the demons haunting him at night.  
Aziraphale was Aziraphale, and Crowley adored him for it. 

“Nah, it’s nothing traumatic.”  
He could still see the cold flash of white in front of his inner eye, still shudder at the memory of the revolting, sticky wetness of lying in your own puddle of blood-  
“Just wasn’t one of my proudest moments. And especially nothing to talk about on a romantic _rendezvous_.”

“There’s nothing more romantic than getting to know you from all your sides; all shades culminating in the picture of you.” 

“You’ll be looking at 50 shades of morally grey.” 

“So be it. I’d love for you to show me all of you. Your…vulnerabilities. I would never judge you, I’m definitely not in the position to do so.”

“I know you wouldn’t.”

“But I also wouldn’t force you to share anything. It’s your decision.” 

Crowley gulped, rubbing his left upper arm as if it held the solution to this dilemma, to the choice between burning shame or emotional rejection towards the man on the other side who had done nothing but trying to understand him. 

“I got into a fight with my ex…um, fiancé.” Before going on, he let Aziraphale the chance to digest the information for a little while. “We were both absolutely shitfaced-drunk and arguing about a lot of stuff.”

“But…he didn’t push you, did he?” 

“Oh, no,” Crowley dismissed the hitching worry in Aziraphale’s voice. “As I said, it was an accident. We were standing near the stairs as he made some threatening gestures that, huh, threw him out of balance and sent him tumbling down. I tried to grab him, but in the end, we both fell. Got a bad concussion and, well…Told you, it’s wasn’t pretty.”

Aziraphale took some seconds to start his next approach, cautious and sympathetic as if trying to pet a timid deer.  
“What was he like?”

“He’s the devil.” Crowley grimaced. “I’m saying that with the most respect I have for him left and not just as a bitter ex. Temptation on two legs, a manipulative narcissist. Still romantic to you, all this?”

“Indeed, unbelievably so.” 

Crowley couldn’t help himself but smile at Aziraphale’s stubborn yet charming persistence. Still, he didn’t quite know how to put in words how he felt about his past engagement, especially in front of an angel who was so different – so refreshingly, beautifully, enchantingly different!!! – from this monster of a person that he had planned to marry someday. Combined with his general incapability of talking fluently in front of Aziraphale, Crowley found himself sweating like a stripper in church. 

“We’ve been in here for quite some time by now. How about this: Tomorrow, we’re going to make this an actual dinner date, ask for some food to eat in our pods at the same time, and then, I’m going to tell you everything.” 

Subconsciously, Crowley was waiting for some kind of lukewarm, polite acceptance or maybe even a flat refusal; a half-assed apology about how Crowley might be a nice fellow but just too much, too complicated, too cynical-

“That’d be lovely. I can’t wait.” 

“Oh…Yeah. I’m glad you think so.” 

“You sound surprised.” 

“'M not.”

Aziraphale laughed, a little tired himself. Bells. Tiny, sweet, _sweet_ bells. 

“I hope I’ve somehow made clear to you that I like you, Crowley.” 

Crowley didn’t deem it possible to be delivered from all earthly plight with the simple crooning of two syllables. Because it wasn’t. 

As a matter of fact, it needed three words. 

_I like you._

“I…err… like you, too. Obviously.” _Obviously???_  
Crowley uttered another deep sigh that originally wasn’t intended to turn out _that_ deep but then embarrassed him with its volume.  
“I feel good around you. Which is a lot from me, especially after what’s only been three days.” 

“I'm happy to hear that since, actually, the same applies to me. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this relaxed talking to someone. It’s rather…difficult for me to open up,” Aziraphale admitted, to Crowley's relief, no less awkward. 

“Don’t worry, you’re doing great.” 

“Likewise.” 

“Well, good that we established…that. I’ll be hearing from you tomorrow, then?”

“Counting the minutes.” 

Crowley felt feverish with all of the heat glowing in his face. 

“Good night, Angel.” 

“Sleep well, dear.”

Almost funny how Aziraphale expected him to get any sleep that night. 

Crowley didn’t say anything about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your feedback, it means the absolute world to me!!!


	3. love is blind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYAA, it's me, bringing the next chapter. And wow, it's a big boy.  
> A lot of things are happening in this one and they are happening FAST! Pls keep in mind that I modelled this after a show in which people genuinely got engaged after five days and are happily married to this day, I know, it sounds absolutely crazy but try to believe in it, haha ♥  
> Anyway, thanks for reading!
> 
> CW: mentions of toxic relationships in the past. If you're concerned about those parts, feel free to ask me and I'll summarize them for you. Stay safe ♥

**DAY 4 OF EXPERIMENT**  
_34 DAYS UNTIL WEDDINGS_

“Oh, absolutely scrumptious!” 

Listening to Aziraphale eat was an out of body experience. Crowley could swear his soul exuberantly somersaulted like a shitfaced teen drunk for the first time but his body was paralysed by it. No one ate like that – no one who wasn’t either on the brink of starving or who hasn’t seen a single carb after years of a bland cabbage soup diet. 

Aziraphale apparently did, though. And it made Crowley wonder if those decadent noises matched an even more appealing face. Sooner or later he found himself fantasising about the most mundane things like sitting at a dinner table together and just watching his lips gracefully stripe off the lasagne they’ve been provided with from his fork. Again, as often, wondering if that made _him_ weird or Aziraphale for exactly trying to achieve that.  
Crowley settled for them both being weird. In the best way. 

“I’m glad you’re enjoying your meal,” Crowley said, poking around in the steaming layers of his lasagne and dragging the béchamel sauce around his plate.  
Italian’s never been his thing, too heavy on the stomach. Generally speaking, food was more of a necessity than joy for Crowley, and if he could, he would gladly swap his meals with coffee and alcohol only. But he would chew off his own tongue before he’d start badmouthing something Aziraphale so obviously relished.  
“I do hope I get a lot of plus points in your notebook for the idea of dining together,” Crowley added, the smug smirk in his voice resounding like the trumpet of victory. 

A hollow victory compared to the effect Aziraphale’s next utterly disarming remark had on Crowley:  
Surprised, Aziraphale tried to contain the bashful laughter building up in his full mouth, swallowed hard and seemed to dab his mouth a few times before speaking up.

“Oh, the notebook, funny you would mention that. I err…” 

Crowley leaned forward in anticipation of that allegedly _funny_ fact, almost throwing him and the plate balancing on his lap from the couch. 

“Well, purely hypothetically speaking...”

“Yeah?”

“If I told you that I’ve hadn’t brought it along since day two, would you consider me a, uh, let’s say _wacky old coot_?” 

“That wouldn’t exactly be my choice of words, but okay.” Crowley tilted his head, playfully musing about the question as if Aziraphale could see his antics. “Depends on your reasons for doing so, really. Did you- I mean, would this hypothetical scenario be part of a timeline in which you simply would have lost your notebook, or would there be more profound motives such as-“

“Maybe I wouldn’t have deemed it any necessary to keep a notebook anymore after getting to know you?” Aziraphale interjected, gushing like a faucet under too much pressure but faltering quickly afterwards. “How…would knowing that make you feel?” 

Crowley looked down to his opened notebook beside him, skimming the pages of incoherent words of praise, wildly scribbled exclamation points and stars under Aziraphale’s name on the top; the outlet for the sweetly sick thoughts twisting and turning the gears in his head, its fuming, saccharine products he would rather suffocate himself on before Aziraphale got a quick whiff of it. 

“If that were the case, I’d definitely lose my mind over…” _Come on, bring it home._ “…how madly I would love to give you a hug.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale sighed, dreamily. 

_Home run. Touchdown. Wa – fucking – hoo._ Crowley would have added a wild accumulation of exclamation points to his notebook to illustrate the pandemonium inside his mind if he would have had any control over his trembling hands. 

“But since all of this is just a made-up scenario there’s no sense in getting all soppy.” 

“I do find myself quite fond of that ‘soppy’ side of yours.” 

“Maybe ‘wacky old coot’ isn’t that far off, actually.” 

“Oh you,” Aziraphale tutted, continuing to eat judging by the sound of another lively gasp. “You’re a breathing and walking riddle. One time, our topics aren’t adequately romantic enough and then, it’s too much for you.”

“I just like teasing you. That’s my love language.”

“In that case, I must feel remarkably charmed.” 

Chuckling into his plate, Crowley finally took a bite.

“But while we’re on the subject of amorous chit-chat that has brought us to this fine arrangement…” Aziraphale began, and Crowley almost choked on a piece of carrot. _Right_.  
“I’ve reflected on our conversation, the awful story you’ve told me. And I feel like I need to repeat myself in this matter: I don’t want to force you to dig up any memories you’ve already buried. There’s obviously a lot of hurt revolving this previous relationship of yours, and as much as I’d love to know and understand you as the person it made you, I’d feel selfish to coax it out of you just to soothe my own curiosity.” Aziraphale took a deep breath. “If you want to leave the past in the past, I’d understand.” 

During the painfully slow process of swallowing his bite, Crowley’s mind went blank just to explode into a variety of shrieking thoughts colouring the void with a blinding, gaudy firework. 

He hadn’t lied when admitting in his first confessionals that opening up was scary. He did want to offer Aziraphale everything he was, he did want to be an open book for him. (Crowley didn’t consider himself a book, though. He was more of a list of food constituents at the back of a bottle of some sort of gooey condiment, fancy chemical names you normally wouldn’t understand but scan over once in a while when bored.) 

And even if Aziraphale wouldn’t be disturbed by the questionable, irritating contents of his past and personality, Crowley didn’t know how to handle the presumably following pity. God, he didn’t want to seem pitiful; be some lamentable little creature Aziraphale felt like he’d had to look after. 

And what kind of statement was his last sentence supposed to be? _Leave the past in the past?_ Was Aziraphale actually just trying to hide something himself? 

Crowley’s paranoia was at the top of its game today. Luckily – and sadly enough – it was a match Crowley didn’t hold the first time. He had come prepared. 

“It’s…nice of you to offer, but, no, it’s okay. I _want_ to talk about it. I want _this_ to work. I want to be honest right from the start and I want you to know me just as much as I want to get to know you; ‘all shades culminating in the picture of you’ and me.” 

“Oh, Crowley...” The tremble in Aziraphale’s voice felt so sweet and fragile, like a sugar wafer about to dissolve in water. “I appreciate that. I truly do.” 

Silence fell between them, but eerily anticipatory. The breath you held when expecting a starting gun to fire and cut through the quiet. Eventually, Crowley exhaled. 

“Now, let me tell you about…” Crowley’s tongue lay in his mouth, dry and heavy, as if it’s been cursed to never say this name out loud again. “Actually, no. Let me tell you about Anthony.”

“Crowley.”

“Anthony James Crowley, to be very specific.” 

“So the J does stand for something.”

“Everything stands for something, Angel! That’s not the point!” Crowley exclaimed. “Well, uh, somehow, in a weird roundabout way, it actually is, but we’ll come to that later. So, Anthony, yeah? 18-year-old, freshly graduated, shameless little Anthony.”

“Oh yes, I see him very vividly in my mind.”

“Unforgettable face, really,” Crowley reacted to the joke coming from the wall before clearing his throat. “I was born as the only child of two successful lawyers, both working for the prestigious law office founded by my father’s father. My parents are, huh…quite the characters. In a way, they gave me everything I needed to survive. But as the ungrateful child that I supposedly am, I can say that surviving isn’t living.”

Crowley swung himself from the couch and leaned against its armrest in an attempt to find a comfortable spot but to no surprise, the restless agitation inside him still would make him change positions multiple times while telling his story. 

“They’ve always shown their love in their own, twisted way. Or they called it that, at least.” Sometimes, Crowley felt like his parents shouldn't have ever become parents in the first place. Knowing them, parenthood had probably been more of a societal obligation than a cordial wish. Crowley would have made the best out of it if they wouldn’t have let him known with every piercing glance. As if the result of his birth was some perpetual debt, guilt even, that he had to pay back with owing his life and decisions to them. 

“In their eyes, there was no way I wouldn’t study law too, work for them. As soon as I uttered my first ‘Dada’, they guilt-tripped me into thinking that that’s what I wanted as well. So, the first thing I did after graduating from school was to fill out my application for University,” Crowley went on.

“But it wasn’t the thing you truly wanted to do?”

“Who knows what I _truly_ wanted? I was a child. Raised to be an uncritical, obedient puppet. I didn’t know about what else there was for me to do but listen to them. In the end, everything worked out somehow, I mean…I’m good at my job. But I just-…I’d rather regret the things I did while making my own choices than wondering all my life what could have been.”

Crowley was staring blankly into the air for a while as a memory flew by.

“I told my father about that one time. He just laughed his laugh, you know, this condescending laugh of an older person patronising you for your ‘romanticised ideas of life’.” He prepared for his caricatural impersonation. “Said ‘Tony, the grass on the other side is always greener. But you wanna know why? It’s artificial grass. Everyone’s just pretending to be happy with their choices as soon as they realize they’re stuck. Pretend and hope you’ll forget you’re pretending someday.’”

He still remembered the melted water dripping down from his Dad’s glass of scotch and vanishing into the carpet beneath his feet, together with the pieces of his respect for him that were heated up and melted by his boiling disappointment. 

“Crowley-…”

“But I’m getting off the track.” Straightening his shoulders, he went around the sofa again, sitting down in front of it, but it neither felt right. “At the beginning of my second semester, I met-…” He internally struggled again. “…him. Lucian. He was vice president of the debate club that I wanted to give a try. The evening I decided to take a first glimpse at it, he debated the former, actual president so ingeniously and severely into the ground, the poor thing started crying and resigned from his position afterwards. Needless to say, I was fascinated.” 

Aziraphale was listening so non-judgmental, patiently, frequently encouraging him to go on with little hums and other heartening indications of his attention, and it made the words roll so much more smoothly from his lips than Crowley had expected when dreading this conversation drenched in cold sweat in bed. 

“Somehow I seemed to have caught his eyes, too, and so, he invited me to hang out with him and some of his friends. I can’t fully recall how it all happened but soon they’ve all become my friends as well. My only friends, at that. He effortlessly integrated himself into so many aspects of my life, whether it was my social life or simple university stuff, while we weren’t even officially dating yet and I…well, I didn’t mind. I liked talking to him. He let me talk, for one. That was something new. God, that sounded sad.”

“Maybe. But understandably so. Go on, dear.” 

“I think…” Crowley mumbled, still a little dizzy from the calming effect of being Aziraphale’s _dear_. Balm for the fucking soul. “I think I liked him because he was so different from my parents and everything they’ve taught me. At the same time, he was the same thing, just in a prettier wrapping. I mean, he was rebellious, always questioning authorities, had an opinion on everything. He encouraged me to form my own opinions which was so, _so_ refreshing. It then took me a while to understand that by urging me to form my own opinions, he actually just wanted me to adapt his. But, well, he’s always been outstandingly brilliant at being persuasive, and I-…I just felt good being _seen_ , being part of something I felt like I finally chose myself.”

Crowley’s hair now was tousled from all of the antsy touching, lying uncomfortably in his face.  
“The first time we hung out, they were all smoking and offering me to do the same. I told them that I hadn’t moved out yet and my mother absolutely hated the smell of smoke. Lucian, he…he laughed, in a similar way to my father, just less obvious. And somehow, he talked me into smoking almost an entire pack that evening. I was puking my guts out afterwards but I felt so childishly liberated.” Crowley laughed darkly. “I don’t know who shat into my head to make me think this was something a healthy, evenly balanced friendship could be built upon but I came back the next day.” 

A few visual fragments of memories flashed in front of his inner eye, muting Crowley for a few seconds. 

“Do you still want me to keep talking? I feel like my mouth’s getting fuzzy.” 

“I love hearing you talk.” The quick answer relaxed Crowley’s fear of boring him. “Granted, the topic surely isn’t arousing the usual positive effect inside me but I’d like to give my thoughts after you’re done.” 

“But you’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

“Promised. Don’t worry.” 

“Alright then…” By now, Crowley’s found himself a pretty neat spot with his legs sprawled against the sofa’s backside and his torso still lying on the ground. “Let me think…”

“When did this become a committed relationship?”

“Ah, right! So, okay. The deal with Lucian was that he didn’t do relationships. And still, there was this unspoken deal, this unofficial arrangement in which I wasn’t allowed to be with anyone else but him. When we eventually officially got together at the end of my studies, he would always emphasise how big of a sacrifice he’d be making for me. Almost as if that was legitimising everything he did to me, as if I had a price to pay for being loved and accepted. Especially since we were in a queer relationship.” 

The next part was going to demand painful honesty. Crowley was boiling in shame.

“Anyway. The point is, many shady things happened in the five years of our relationship. For one, I…” His throat was scratchy and tight as if it wanted to grow shut. “He wanted me to scam some money from my parents. A lot, um... We argued many times. He eventually distracted me with a spontaneous proposal and I was stupid enough to play along, so I did it. Originally, I didn’t want to but he was persistent about it, saying they deserved it for taking so much out of my life. Still, it was me, fully accountable, and there’s no sense in denying that. Of course, my parents found out and-…well, they made sure I’d never protest about working for them again.”

He was almost finished with the demonstration of his foul character in front of Aziraphale and way too many cameras as he found himself to be circled back sitting conventionally on the couch.

“The funny thing is that our final argument, you know, the one that sent us falling down – our _coupe de grace_ if you will – hadn’t been about his manipulating behaviour or my parents or whatever. It had been about getting children.” 

“What’s your stance on it?”

A burst of air was caught in Crowley’s closed mouth so it couldn’t make the same amount of noise Aziraphale’s question had created inside his head. As a result, he just sounded like a balloon that slowly lost its fillings. If they just went through all of this, only for Crowley to learn that Aziraphale had a similar opinion on this sensitive topic as Lucian, he wouldn’t know how to handle that disappointment. 

“Well…He didn’t want any. I did- do, still. And that’s the one thing I’d never make compromises for.” Crowley’s chest tightened. “What about you?”

“I certainly could see myself with two or maybe even three children. I always dreamed about reading _Winnie the Pooh_ to them.”

That’s it. This man had been created in a tank just for Crowley. At this point, it was ridiculous how perfectly Aziraphale ticked all of his boxes. 

“I’m sorry, Crowley,” Aziraphale said after some time. The addressed reacted a little startled, still hung up on Winnie the Pooh. 

“Huh? What for?”

“All of it. I’m sorry you had to go through all of that. I’m sorry someone made you think that accepting who you are would come with a price. Because it shouldn’t. You deserve to be loved.” 

Crowley gulped. He had expected him to say something like this but hearing it said out loud still hit him in all the right places. He looked down to his hands and saw the partially scraped-off nail polish.

Might as well go the whole road down now. 

“It wasn’t just…my quirks, my complicated relationship with my parents or my sexuality that he always pointed out to be burdens. I’m…um…” His fingers started scratching again. Black polish drizzled onto the crème-coloured cushions. “I don’t entirely identify as a man.”

“And he felt burdened by that?”

“He said I should keep those fantasies in our bedroom.” 

Aziraphale’s next sigh was so profound, it must have come from the deepest corner of his lungs.  
“Please excuse the profanity but, _God_ , that man is an arsehole!”

Crowley’s eyes opened wide. There wasn’t a single time Aziraphale has ever cursed in the past four days. By now, Crowley had been convinced that he was physically incapable of doing so. And to hear him now, downright call Lucian an _arsehole_ seemed like a fever dream he wanted to wallow in for some more time. He couldn’t help himself but laugh in a relieved way. 

“It doesn’t matter to you? Me being genderqueer?”

“I can’t come up with a reason why it would.” 

“So if I’d be strutting the aisle in, let’s say, a dress, you wouldn’t mind?”

“I’d be glowing with pride because my partner would be the most beautiful person in the room. Do you want me to use different pronouns for you?”

This man was no regular human. Crowley’s parents probably dug up his old diaries and hired an actor to play with his feelings using that information as some kind of punishment. 

“Crowley? Is everything fine? You’re not saying anything.”

“Yeah,” he pressed out, everything but fine. “And no. I’m fine with he and him.”

“Noted.”

“Ah, about my names.”

“Right!”

“My parents named me after my two grandfathers. Anthony’s coming from my father’s side. He was the one who founded my parents' agency, and at the same time, he was a misogynistic, racist pig who’s made his secretary buy lingerie for his affairs. James was the name of my mother’s father, and I don’t know much about him but the fact that he hit her when she was a little girl, so…yes. After I realized that I’m not a straight cis male, I had even more reasons to resent those names than I did anyway.” 

“So you chose your surname Crowley?”

“Mostly because I was really into occultism at that time and thought Aleister Crowley was pretty cool.”

“I can see that.” 

“Yup. Well, that’s me.”

Aziraphale chuckled softly. It shouldn’t have that much power over Crowley but it did.

“Alright. Thank you for sharing. It means the world to me.” 

“You-…”  
_…mean the world to me._  
_…are the best fucking thing that ever happened to me._  
“…are most welcome, Angel.” 

“So, that was highly emotional.”

“You’re also very welcome to tell me something that weighs upon your mind.” 

“I’m okay for the moment. Let’s digest this great progress first, yes?”

“Anything you want.” 

“Splendid.” Aziraphale clapped delightedly. However, a shocked gasp followed promptly. “You’ve been talking the entire time! Your food must be cold by now!”

Aziraphale’s voice was so full of expression and life, even when talking about the most earthly things. 

“Don’t worry about it. Did I ever tell you that you’ve got a beautiful voice?”

“That’s a sudden mental leap but, uh, no, I don’t think you did before. Thank you!”

“I mean it. You should consider recording an audiobook. There’s just something so comforting about it.” 

“After this eventful date, I could maybe read to you a little bit tomorrow. Just for us to unwind together.” 

Crowley let himself fall back onto the couch, trying to catch his breath that was competing with his heart for the title of the fastest. 

“That’d be cool. But you’re not leaving already, are you?”

“Hm, no. I think you’re stuck with me for at least another few hours,” Aziraphale purred. 

“You always say the right things, Angel.” 

**DAY 5 OF EXPERIMENT**  
_33 DAYS UNTIL WEDDINGS_

“… _When they were gone, Elizabeth, as if intending to exasperate herself as much as possible against Mr Darcy, chose for her employment the examination of all the letters which Jane had written to her since her being in Kent._ ”

Even a person raised by wolves outside of society and the understanding of the concept of fondness could hear that Aziraphale was unconditionally and unquestionably in love with every word he was reading. And if there was anything, any sentiment to surpass this immense feeling of adoration, it must be Crowley’s love for him glowing and smouldering inside his chest. 

He loved him.  
Crowley was earnestly, fervently, _madly_ in love with him.

Crowley knew about the infatuation that’s been holding him in its velvety hands since day one. He also knew to distinguish it so clearly from this new feeling that it almost tore him apart. Which was odd enough considering his fucking sheets at home had been put onto his bed for longer than he knew Aziraphale. But he knew it. 

If someone would have told him he’d be at this point five days ago, he would have guffawed into their face. It was indescribably confusing and not making much sense but he knew. 

“… _and her spirits were very differently affected, when, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr Darcy walk into the room._ ”

Yesterday, as a member of the sound crew had come to pick up the little microphone attached to his shirt, they had told him giggling that Aziraphale and he had officially broken the show’s record for the longest date that evening. They’ve been uninterruptedly talking for six hours in one sitting. Crowley could have sworn it hadn’t been that long. And then again, the only real thing he cared about was to beat that record by never having to leave anymore at all. 

Opening up to him had felt good, it had felt _right_. 

It wasn’t something he could possibly explain with words. He didn’t even know what to call this beautifully baffling experience itself. He was only sure of so few things: Being in love with Aziraphale, and being on the brink of shitting his pants because of it. 

“… _He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word._ ”

He needed to tell him. He felt like losing his mind if he’d kept it to himself one single minute longer. 

“ _After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began._ ”

His fingers, tips glazed with cold sweat, were clenching around his knees. He needed to-

“ _’In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and’-…_ ”

“Aziraphale, I love you.” 

For a moment, Crowley was scared that the other would just keep reading. But Aziraphale inhaled. Faltering, wrinkled, like a page turned too fast. And then, he wished Aziraphale had just continued. 

“…You what?”

“I..err…I love you.”  
It then dawned upon him how stupid he must seem. Five days into this acquaintance and he confessed his love to him. Stupid wasn’t even the right word. He was a lunatic.  
“It’s okay if you still need time to think about it. Or…if you don’t, at all. ‘m not mad. Just…wanted you to know. Uh, maybe I should go-“

“No, don’t go.” Crowley froze in his movements. Aziraphale sniffled. He had made him _cry_. Crowley’s useless heart dropped to the ground like a stone thrown off a bridge. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to upset you! Shit, Aziraphale, I’m-“

“Crowley.” A sob followed. But it lifted Crowley’s heart of the ground and kissed it. It was the euphoric hitch of sweet tears of joy. “I’m so glad, you couldn’t possibly imagine.”

Crowley leapt to the wall separating them, pressing his hands against it. 

“So, you-…you...”

“I love you, too.”

“I love you,” Crowley repeated disbelievingly as if he just learnt the words. 

Well, he definitely just discovered their true meaning for the first time. 

“I didn’t want to cause you any distress with my shocked reaction. I just…I was scared you’d think I’m a fool for falling so quickly for you. I didn’t expect you to reciprocate my feelings already. Oh, I’m so sorry, my love!” 

“Call me _love_ one more time and I might even forgive you for that heart attack.” 

“Gladly, my love, my life, the apple of my eye.” 

Crowley’s heart was pounding, vibrating from his chest into every last fibre of his being. 

_Of the eye, huh._ That could be arranged. 

**Love is blind – Episode x – proposal/confessional – “Crowley/Aziraphale” – Take 01**

_”I came into this experiment unsure what to actually expect out of it. But I don’t think you’re ever able to prepare yourself for something this bizarre and indescribable-…ineffable. Aziraphale called it ‘ineffable’. That seems about right. I’ve known this man for six days and I’m ready to marry him. If that’s not ineffable, I think I misunderstood the meaning of that word.”_

**DAY 6 OF EXPERIMENT**  
_32 DAYS UNTIL WEDDINGS_

The lights were dazzlingly bright for Crowley’s exposed eyes; narrow and amber, and unusually tense. 

Crowley nervously smoothed down the fabric of the suit he chose for this special occasion: Sleek black silk was embracing his shaking, slim body, together with the pop of rich maroon of his collar. 

He closed the pod’s door. Thereby provoking a reaction, and what a lovely one. 

“Crowley?”

The corners of his mouth tore away from the hold nervousness has seized over his body and blithely danced upwards. 

“It’s me, Angel.”

Crowley stepped forward to the frosted glass in front of him, let his fingers stroke over it once before kneeling down. 

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I-…” His heart was pounding so loud, he almost couldn’t make out his own thoughts. Closing his eyes, his head dropped a little defeated by his own inner commotion. “How are you today?” he then asked, still kneeling like an idiot. 

“I hardly believe you can feel any better than I did waking up this morning. I had a dream about you.” 

“So?”

“Oh, yes. We were sitting on a meadow, across the flowers. Everything looked and felt so idyllic, I should have noticed right away that it was a dream.”

“We were just sitting?”

“No, we were having a picnic. Though I believe it just consisted of the fruit you stole from the meadow’s owner's trees. We were feeding each other pears and apples; they were so marvellously ripe and sweet, heavenly to bite into…”

“What did I look like?”

Aziraphale laughed softly. “That’s the silly thing of it all. I couldn’t see you. The sun was shining so brightly into your face, all I could sense was light and so, oh, so much warmth.” His little gasps had Crowley’s heart jumping and bouncing so lively, it made his eyes swell with painful affection. “I’d love to have some pears now, though…”

“Aziraphale Zachariah Fell.”

“I didn’t know you had _such_ strong and serious opinions on fruit.”

“Would you like to actually see me instead of light?”

“What?”

“Aziraphale, I…didn’t think I deserved any blessings but somehow you still made it into my life, and I don’t think there ever will be a day I’m not thankful for exactly that. And as thankful as I am, in return, I don’t want there to ever be a day in which I’m not showing you how much I love you.”

Crowley raised his head again.

“Will you marry me?”

The existence of a sound sweeter, more cathartic than Aziraphale’s gasps or his laughter blew Crowley’s mind with astonishingly bewitching power. 

“Yes, o-oh, of course, yes!” 

Crowley had felt like he hadn’t stopped falling since stumbling from those stairs with Lucian. Finally, he had hit the ground, and the ground was soft and welcoming and it was repeating the word _yes_ over and over again. 

“You’re a beautiful person, Crowley, inside and out. I don’t need to see you with my eyes to know that.” 

He couldn’t stop smiling.

“Still, I’d love to see my fiancé now more than ever.” 

“Your fiancé…” Aziraphale whispered reverently. “We’re engaged.”

“We’re engaged,” Crowley confirmed. “We’re going to see each other tomorrow, Angel.”

“I’m afraid I might faint.” 

“You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. And if not, I’m right there to catch you. That’s part of it all, I suppose, special engagement duties.” 

“Then, I will have to trust you.”

“That you must. But I’ll try my best to make it worth your effort.”  
Crowley’s fingers brushed the glass another time, imagining him standing right across it.  
“So, I will see you tomorrow, Angel. Literally.”

“I’ll be the man waiting on the other side. Hard to miss.” 

“I can’t wait.”

“I love you.” 

“Love you too.”

Aziraphale wasn’t the only one to fear for his consciousness. Crowley barely made it out of the room. 

**DAY 7 OF EXPERIMENT**  
_31 DAYS UNTIL WEDDINGS_

“You’re going to stay in this room for a few minutes so we can take one or two shots to put with the audio from your confessional, okay?”

“Okay,” Crowley repeated, unbeknownst what he had just agreed to. This was simultaneously one of the best yet most stressful days of his life, and he couldn’t care less for which camera to nervously look into right now. 

He was meeting the love of his life, he was going to hold him, see him laugh in the flesh, and it was overwhelming all his human senses. 

“As soon as we’re giving you the signal, we need you to position yourself in front of this gate which will then slowly open. And once it’s opened, well…everything’s up to you lovebirds,” the producer told him, giving him a toothy, encouraging smile. “You’ll have ten minutes until we’ll have to split you up again, so, make it count.” 

That Crowley did understand. 

After her little explanation of the following proceedings, the producer vanished behind a door and left Crowley alone in the little lounge. If he wouldn’t have been on the verge of throwing up his entire stomach’s contents all over his feet, he probably would have called the room some sad, hopeless romantic’s wet dream with all those roses plastered around him, but needless to say, his concentration was only so limited and as a result, didn’t leave all too much capacity for cynicism. 

Crowley was panting, continuously wandering the small carpet up and down and internally cursing everybody responsible for the minutes separating him from Aziraphale. It was absurd. Without ever seeing him, he had fallen in love with him and now, he felt like choking if he wasn’t going to breathe the same air as him soon. 

And the longer these cruel minutes got drawn out, the more fears crept into his mind. Worries he would have never come up with if it wasn’t for his excitement that was pairing up with spiralling anxiety.

He couldn’t be sweaty now. He couldn’t be stuttering, he’d be making an idiot out of himself. Who was he kidding, of course, he was going to stutter. And what if Aziraphale actually didn’t like gingers? That seemed to be the trend around here. What if everything they’ve built would be breaking down because Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to connect his emotional attachment to any sort of physical attraction? What if he absolutely hated the way Crowley looked while talking? More likely, while stuttering like the idiot he was! Aziraphale could be sensitive to his cologne. Or his smell in general. Fucking hell, what if Aziraphale thought he smelled weird-

“Alright, Crowley, you’re good to go. Please position yourself in front of the projector.”

_ShitShitShit._

Despite the sudden urge to go for the run, his body moved mechanically and placed him in front of the spotlight that was projecting his silhouette onto the gate’s beige doors. 

This was it. This was happening and there was nothing to prevent that. Crowley held his breath.

Funnily enough, Crowley underestimated the effect Aziraphale had on him as often before. 

Because when the gates finally opened, he felt the most relieved he’s ever been. 

He dashed forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for reading!!! ♥


	4. Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's me again!  
> Alright, once again, I changed a lot of stuff. Originally, I didn't want to stop at this point and actually start some drama but then I decided against it. It's short-ish, but today I'm just offering you Crowley being absolutely disgustingly, drunkenly IN LOVE. I was a little scared that I'd go overboard but seriously f*ck this. While editing, I opened a bottle of wine, listened to Josh Groban and decided there are so many nasty things in this world rn but this is about love and I won't apologize for it ♥  
> That means the next chapter's probably going to be HUGE again. Anyway, enjoy ♥
> 
> (On another note, this is [this fic’s anthem](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XDHFq50Zuv4) and I won't change my mind.)

When Crowley had been a little child, he’d often spend his afternoons in his grandmother’s care due to his parents’ busy work schedule. His grandmother had been a reserved person, distant yet kind; someone who wouldn’t simply offer you nurturing warmth without a good reason to do so but really made those few moments count. 

One time, he had asked her about her most cherished tea service. The nice porcelain with a gold rim, the one that made tea taste especially tasty to drink out off. More specifically, he had asked about the plump, winged babies painted on it, the infants crowned with flaxen blond hair and a radiating smile. 

“ _Angels,_ ” she had called them, allowing him to crawl into her lap so he could have a better look. 

“ _Angels,_ ” he had repeated reverently. The word had sounded as if it demanded reverence. “ _Like those in church? How do you become one? Can I become an angel when I go to Heaven?_ ” 

Bombarded with questions, his grandmother had chuckled. “ _I don’t think so. I believe they were already made to be God’s helpers._ ”

Crowley had nodded, very solemnly, as a new fit of questions had begun to bloom in his mind. 

“ _Though,_ ” she had mumbled and interrupted his intense thought process, “ _I also do believe that God sometimes directly sends them to us in the form of our loved ones. Our very own angels to guide us through hard times. Just like you are my little Angel, Tony._ ” 

“ _Really?_ ” he had whispered shocked, comparing the blond babies with himself and coming to the conclusion that they had looked so different from him after all. 

“ _Really. And I pray He’ll give you an Angel to walk beside you too someday._ "

With the expansion of Crowley’s inclination to critical thinking, he soon had developed personal reservations about the concepts of God, Angels and the use of praying. 

However, to see all this scepticism crash with the mere sight of one person walking towards him felt disruptively illuminating. 

“Holy fuck,” so he uttered under his breath and ran to get hold of his Angel. 

And what an Angel he was.

There still was a small distance of a few metres between them and yet, Crowley’s mind was entangled in the sensation, so captured by everything he saw that his sheer willpower and adrenaline made his legs and heart accelerate with breakneck speed. Bizarrely, his heart was pounding so hard it put a dizzyingly calm veil over him, similar to the paradox cold you feel searing through your skin when you touch something scorching hot. 

Crowley’s head was in a state of emergency and in its acts of crisis, it forgot about a crucial part in the process of running: Stopping. 

It needed one little bump in the carpet, one stumble and a concerned flash of blue eyes for him to understand that he was falling over his own feet – and that it was even more stupid than stuttering. Crowley felt his composure plummet down together with his useless body. 

But then…well then, his Angel preempted him with his wish to hold him, and Crowley was being caught by two gentle hands grabbing his upper arms with the utmost care. 

He held his breath. 

“Talk about wild enthusiasm,” Aziraphale laughed nervously, and Crowley squinted as if he was looking directly into the sun. 

His eyes were fluttering back and forth, excitedly examining, unsure what part to admire first as they decided they’d never achieve to look their fill anyway. First, they stuck to Aziraphale’s lips. Matching this voice he had learnt to love to them was easier than expected; peachy leaves of clover embedded in the softest of linen. 

“I’m sorry,” was the only thing Crowley managed to croak, making Aziraphale’s grip on his arms soften. 

“Don’t be. I was here to catch you. Part of our _special engagement duties_ , you called them.” 

It was all Crowley needed to hear for the crescendo of his focus on Aziraphale’s lips.  
The last few days have been the most confusing, the most baffling experience of his life, and at this point, Crowley knew better than to trust any passed on reason.  
So, he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and did the only thing that still seemed to make sense in this puzzling world. 

He kissed him.  
Aziraphale exhaled sharply in brief surprise but then concealed it with a chuckle and closed his eyes to kiss him back.

It remained to be a short, chaste kiss; the first meeting of lips, coming to know the last pair they’d ever have to meet. 

Aziraphale’s lips were soft.  
Everything about him was soft, so damn elusively soft that Crowley had to press his body aching with affection close to his as soon as the kiss broke off. And underneath that, lying under this lovely, cushiony softness Crowley could feel so much strength. The strength with which Aziraphale had caught him, the strength with which he responded to this embrace without being brutishly exuberant- strength that felt like a shield. 

“Oh God…” Crowley’s voice was hushed by the overpowering of all his senses as Aziraphale’s body nestled against his, cheek to cheek, heat meeting coldness, his own spicy cologne mingling with Aziraphale’s scent of faint vanilla- “I can’t believe this is happening. This is… _shit_ , this is real.” 

“Very much so.” Aziraphale shivered in his arms. “I’m so excited to see you, Crowley.”

“Me too, me too, I-…I feel like my soul’s leaving my body.” 

They laughed, a little awkward. Though the pleasant tingling emanating from the soft strokes of Aziraphale’s fingertips in the back of his neck quickly took care of any embarrassment that dared to arise in Crowley’s mind. He took a deep breath.

“Now, we don’t want any of that,” Aziraphale soothed him, letting his chalky smooth hands rest in Crowley’s nape. They felt as if they’ve never seen any work more strenuous than being gentle to anything they’ve touched, as if they’ve been created with the sole purpose of love. “Oh…” he then whispered, wiggling carefully out of the embrace and cupping Crowley’s face, “let me look at you, love.” 

Even if he would have wanted to, Crowley couldn’t struggle against Aziraphale’s soft touch, the dull sting that hit his heart as Aziraphale straightened his collar and smoothed down the fabric of his suit. He was watching him in awe, observing him perform the most mundane, domestic magic tricks. 

“You have the most beautiful eyes,” he heard Aziraphale say but Crowley was blinded by the waves breaking in front of him, too mesmerised by the opalescent swirls of jade-green shimmering in the sea. “They’re like liquid gold, so lovely. And your jaw, oh my…”  
Aziraphale’s thumb brushed over his temple, caressing the black snake coiling on his skin.  
“I almost didn’t notice that tattoo, it fits you so indescribably well, my dear.” 

“Oh, thank you. It was a very impulsive thing. ‘M forced to cover it up for work, though,” he rambled.  
_This was the way he decided to respond to Aziraphale’s compliments? Really?_  
“You’re…Fuck, Aziraphale, you’re…” Crowley’s eyes couldn’t stop scanning his face. He’s never seen a nose like this, so strikingly curved yet properly fitting for such an expressive face- Aziraphale looked like chiselled marble, too clear cut and simultaneously too soft to be breathing. “When I started calling you an angel, I-…I couldn’t know you actually looked like one, too. You’re _gorgeous_.” 

The tips of Aziraphale’s ears started to glow with flattered red. 

“Oh, you charmer.” 

“I mean it.” Crowley buried his face in those platinum clouds curling on Aziraphale’s head, kissing its crown. “I don’t know what I expected but…I can’t really comprehend how lucky I am. I’m scared I’m going to wake up any second.” 

“I’m convinced this couldn’t possibly be a dream,” Aziraphale said, cupping Crowley's face again to lock eyes. “No matter how creative, my brain could have never subconsciously come up with such a handsome face.” 

“So much for me being a charmer.” 

“I mean it,” Aziraphale repeated his words, and Crowley couldn’t help himself but lean forward for another quick peck on the lips. Another and yet another until he felt a delighted smile flourish into it, and Aziraphale gladly began to deepen their kiss. 

Their lips leisurely grazed on another; slow, sensual movements accompanied by dreamy sighs, hands brushing necks and resting against the other’s pulse.  
Eventually, Aziraphale faced away, letting a breathless giggle dash against Crowley’s cheek. 

“I’m glad you’re such a great kisser. I was a little worried,” he laughed with a flushed face, visibly overwhelmed. 

“Oh?” Crowley made, placing a teasing kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead. God, kissing him seemed addictive. “Is that so? Almost sounds like a traumatic experience.” 

“The last time I kissed someone I felt like he was performing reverse CPR on me.”

Crowley laughed like only a being in love could. 

Every fear of possible physical incompatibility, every former awkwardness had melted in the warmth of the kiss they had just shared. And to see Aziraphale even make a joke as if there wouldn’t have ever been a wall between them filled his bloodstreams with sparkly endorphins. 

“Well, you’re not that bad yourself. But I’d need more samples to make an educated statement.” 

“Of course you do,” Aziraphale said and shook his head affectionately. But contrary to Crowley’s expectations, he wouldn’t actually be compliant to Crowley’s suggestion and rather reached for something hidden in one of his coat’s inside pockets.  
Before he knew what was happening, Aziraphale had gone on his knees. 

Crowley’s breath faltered as Aziraphale took his left hand. 

“Your hands are as cold as a corpse, love…”

“Feel like becoming one every second.” 

“Shush,” Aziraphale made fondly, planting one sweet kiss on his vena amoris. 

“Better.” 

A brief smile flashed over Aziraphale’s face before he tried his hardest to pull a serious look. 

“Since you proved your courage to propose first, I wanted to make it up to you in person. I…uh…” Uncharacteristically, Aziraphale seemed at a loss for words. “Originally, I had prepared a long speech about love, loyalty and perpetual commitment but then I was informed we only had ten minutes and-“

“Yes, Aziraphale. I will marry you.” 

“Oh…!” His eyes widened with the surprising but welcome interruption. “Good- more than good! Fantastic, actually…!” 

Crowley spread his fingers in an offering fashion, and Aziraphale effortlessly slipped the ring over him. It was a band of swirled silver, two sleek shanks cupping a small diamond in its centre, and its meaning once again hit his face like a shovel. “Holy shit, we’re _actually_ engaged.” The diamond’s glistened in the bright lights above them. “It’s so beautiful.”

“It looks lovely on you.”

“I wish I had one for you too,” Crowley admitted. 

“Another time. For now, I’m just happy to see you wear this one.” 

_Time._ Aziraphale had dropped the cue. The producers waiting in the lounges across from them were giving them the sign that their time was almost over. Crowley felt childishly disappointed. 

“I suppose it’s time to go…”

“I’ll never be far away, dear.” 

“They can’t keep you from me anymore, anyways.” 

“Is that a promise?” 

“A promise to you, a threat to them.” 

“Very well,” Aziraphale laughed softly, caressing his cheek once again and leaving hot blush on Crowley’s skin like a brush. “We’ll see each other soon again. Oh, do take care of you, please!” 

“I will. In the meanwhile, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That’s a very vague instruction, love.” 

“Oi, someone’s cheeky!” 

“I won’t be only perceived as cheeky but also as rude if we don’t follow the set’s orders now.”

“Orders are made to be ignored, anyways,” Crowley responded and then pulled Aziraphale into a final kiss that was just so cruelly quick due to Aziraphale’s fussy tutting. 

“I love you, you unruly thing.” 

“I think that’s my favourite name yet. Love you too.”

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hands one last time, bestowing him with their warmth farewell, and then he reluctantly turned around, walking towards the lounge he had come from. 

Watching him go didn’t sit right with Crowley. He turned around multiple times and wouldn’t fully step through into the separated room until he caught Aziraphale’s last parting glimpse. 

When the gate’s doors closed themselves, Crowley felt like in a drunken stupor, as if he was thrown into another realm of time and space. Everything happened too fast around him, and he barely noticed how he was immediately ushered into the confession booth. 

“Crowley, please, tell us how you feel.”

Then, the beam of spotlight hit his eyes and he shuddered. 

“Crowley? Do you-…”

“Have you _seen_ him?” Crowley asked, a lovestruck sheen twinkling in his eyes. “I knew I was going to adore him no matter what he looked like but I had no idea I had been talking to such a gorgeous bastard the entire time.” 

Crowley shook his head, dumbfounded. 

“I…I don’t know what to say. I’m just-… _wow_. He’s so...”

Looking for the right word to describe Aziraphale, his heart made a sudden drop, leaving his chest hollow and aching.  
He gulped.

“I can’t fuck this up,” Crowley said, unintentionally making intense eye contact with the camera. 

He really couldn’t. 

Not this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!!!! MEANS A LOT!!!!


	5. Appleseeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo....Hooray for not being dead?  
> I know I don't need to apologise but stillllll, I couldn't be more sorry :(  
> University was giving me a hard time and I had a writing block creeping up (that I now successfully fought with this chapter as its battleground, ehehe)
> 
> It's gotten...quite long bc I underestimated the amount of plot. So I split it up - again. But I have a really nice treat coming up, so yeah!!!  
> Anyway, thanks for still sticking around and have lots of fun reading!!!
> 
> TW: There is a panic attack in the last third of the chapter! Also mentioning of toxic relationships, depression and antidepressants, stay safe ♥

_29 DAYS UNTIL WEDDINGS_

“Oh, thank you, _monsieur_ ,” Aziraphale chuckled as he walked through the door courteously being held open by his fiancé. 

Said fiancé watched him from the threshold of their hotel suite as Aziraphale moved in a slow circle and appreciated their quarters with wide, bright eyes and vintage leather suitcase in hand. Crowley thought he looked gracefully theatrical with his thrilled gasps and sighs, beautifully campy like the naïve ingénue of a musical who just got off a bus to start her new exciting life in the city. He couldn’t help himself but smile. 

Greeted by a cosy yet modernly decorated, oblong lounge area, Crowley found himself very thankful for the strong contrast of their new arrangement to the windowless pods: Tired, marigold beams of sunset shone through the massive, glassy slide doors leading to the adjacent balcony and tickled a matte twinkle out of the ash grey oak panels adorning the walls. 

“Isn’t this lovely?” Aziraphale exhaled and drew the white, sheer tulle curtains aside to have a nice look of the scenery presenting itself to them. “Come in, dear, come and have a look!” 

Crowley didn’t need to be told twice and dropped his own suitcase next to the broad corner sofa to walk up to Aziraphale. God knows, Crowley wasn’t someone to follow commands like a panting, gullible dog just because someone clicked his tongue at him but the tongue in question easily made him forget of that fact; for the gentle portato of Aziraphale’s enunciation of _”dear”_ Crowley wouldn’t hesitate to _give his paws_. 

He stood next to him, close enough so that their shoulders would brush. Outside the window, the _Côte d’Azur_ lay still in the evening sun, tightly hugging the beach in lazy waves as if it never wanted to let go of its old friend again. It sure was beautiful and nice to look at but Crowley wasn’t interested in dabbling his toes in a puddle when he could drop down to the bottom of the sea: Crowley drowned in Aziraphale’s eyes.  
“’S neat,” he croaked. 

“I’ve been to Paris a few times but I’ve never had the chance to visit the south. Fancy that, two weeks ago I reread _Perfume_ and just today we drove past those luscious flower fields Grenouille committed his atrocious murders in, oh, I’m thrilled to see those beauteously depicted sceneries with my own eyes!” Aziraphale swooned, soaking in the sun just to magically reflect it like the moon. 

“I feel like you should talk about your foible for murder before someone asks you for your hand in marriage.” 

“Oh, you.” 

“Wouldn’t have changed a thing. I’m just saying.” 

Aziraphale didn’t reply to Crowley’s tease but gave him a smile instead. It was affectionate yet annoyed. Tired from hours of travelling, though full of spirit. It was so much and simultaneously nothing tangible, and mostly, it was bliss.  
Bliss in its most cottony form, soaking up every word Crowley had prepared to continue to taunt him with. 

He gulped.

“I’m…happy to be here with you,” Crowley said. Easy words at first, easy emotions. Everything else would trigger the avalanche building up in his chest and bury them both. 

“Me too,” Aziraphale whispered, apparently too choked-up on his emotions and, bless him, too pretty not to be kissed this instant. 

From the point where his pointy shoulder bone pricked the other, Crowley’s arm tingled in hot waves and gingerly began to nestle against the strong arm next to it, close more and more distance until the skin of their hands met. The cups of his fingers rubbed slowly against Aziraphale’s, coaxing them to dance with them. 

There was the sweetest huff, the rosiest blush on the apples of Aziraphale’s cheeks, and maybe he would have taken the invitation with one of that fond smiles of his, the one you could resurrect the dead with. Intertwine their fingers for Crowley to pull him close and snog him senseless.

Crowley would never find out. Before they could even remotely link their fingers, the suite’s door opened again, and Aziraphale’s hand flinched away as if he’d touched a hot stove. 

“Don’t mind us!” a production team member exclaimed, pointing into the room for the men with the cameras and sound tech to tag along after him. “We’ll need to attach these to the walls, do some soundchecks. We planned to properly film you for dinner outside on the balcony so you have some time to unwind, freshen up and stuff. Alright with you?” 

A little numb, Crowley nodded vaguely and rather watched Aziraphale pick up his suitcase again, clutching at its handles with both hands. 

“Let’s examine the rest of the rooms, shall we?”

“Uh…sure,” Crowley mumbled, not quite meeting Aziraphale’s – obviously fake – enthusiasm, and followed him into what he presumed to be their bedroom. 

An unpleasantly familiar feeling boiled inside his stomach. 

Crowley had fallen in love with Aziraphale and everything that came with him. Although, the first thing he had learnt to love was his voice, the way he talked and softly articulated silver-tongued words of gold. A few hours in his direct presence now had taught Crowley that there was even so much more to it: Aziraphale didn’t only talk with his mouth, his entire body celebrated the act of expressing himself. His eyes were twinkling with mirth, his nose twitched playfully indignant at Crowley’s banter, his shoulders broadened with the occasional sweet little, complacent wiggle and his hands, oh, his hands seemed to never stop. Up until now, Crowley only had been granted a few hours of travelling together to actually observe him but against his better judgment, he had managed to grow even fonder of Aziraphale’s way of talking. 

It was the lack of all this that made the nasty feeling in Crowley’s stomach rise, crawl upwards and manifest in an asphyxiating lump inside his throat. 

Aziraphale stood next to the king-sized, box-spring bed, constraining a smile as he noticed Crowley staring. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in a hotel room so expensive.”

Crowley didn’t want Aziraphale to feel desperate to make conversation. He could swear they were able to be comfortably silent together but then again, Crowley didn’t want to be alone with his wildly wandering thoughts. “No?” 

“Not quite in the budget. I mean, I own a bookshop, and it’s not like I’m selling books to accumulate fabulous wealth. I’m no _Amazonas_ or whatever this soulless company’s name is.” 

“I love it when you’re pretending to be human, you’re so bad at it,” Crowley chuckled. It made Aziraphale visibly relax a little bit which, in return, made Crowley yank his courage out of his anxiety’s festering hands. He cleared his throat. “Is everything alright? You seemed a little…startled just now?”

“Oh, travelling always leaves me jittery, that’s all. Seeing new places, new people…plus the high of surviving a plane ride. Really takes its toll on me,” Aziraphale laughed, set his suitcase aside and stretched a little. “The view from here is almost even more beautiful than the living room’s, would you believe that?”

 _No._ Crowley wouldn’t believe that. He recognised an evasive answer when he saw one. 

“Are you sure? I have…the feeling something’s off.” 

Aziraphale slightly opened his mouth but no words left him. Crowley knew he couldn’t back off now, he had him where he wanted him. Though, that didn’t preserve Crowley from rambling either: 

“If you’re uncomfortable around the camera team, you need to tell me. Otherwise, I’ll think it’s me. Which would be also okay. I mean…It wouldn’t be _okay_ okay but I’d like to know nonetheless because else-“

“Crowley,” Aziraphale interrupted him with apparently newfound calmness and softly grabbed him by his shoulders. “Dearest, I-…I promise you everything is fine. Indeed, I’m still a little overwhelmed by the whole situation but how couldn’t I be?”  
For a second, his voice broke with love, and it made Crowley’s hair stand on end.  
“I’ve never loved like this before, this…intensely. You make me feel things – things that for the longest time, I was convinced only existed in books, and it’s as scary as it’s exhilaratingly exciting. The feeling of being able to see you now, to touch you, it’s something so unfamiliar to me. Not unpleasant, just new.”

“Well, it’s new and unfamiliar for me, too.”

“I know, I know, love.” Aziraphale’s thumbs moved in soothing, slow circles over Crowley’s upper arms. “I promise you’re not the problem.” 

“But you’ll tell me if there are any?” Talking about his concerns had been so surprisingly easy behind a wall that it had almost made him forget how shitty it felt to be vulnerable, to openly expose one’s feelings. Cameras aside. “Problems, I mean.”  
He adjusted his sunglasses.

“To be perfectly honest, right now, my biggest problem is how filthy I feel in my sweaty clothes,” Aziraphale laughed and despite the noticeably lightened atmosphere, Crowley couldn’t help himself but feel like Aziraphale was just wandering off the topic again. “If you don’t mind, when peeking into the bathroom I spotted a large tub and I’m more than just fond of the idea to draw me a bath before dinner.” 

“Uh, yeah, course. Treat yourself. It’s been a hard day. Hard week, really. We crammed years of emotional bonding into the shortest amount of time.” 

“I’d still do it again.” Eye to eye, Aziraphale’s painfully genuine pathos was almost even worse on Crowley’s heart than it had been in the pods. “It’s funny to me how God created the world in seven days and it took me an equal amount of time to find mine.” The eye twinkling, the nose twitch, his hands- they were back.

Crowley smiled disarmed. “Go take your bath, Angel.” 

As soon as Aziraphale had vanished into the bathroom together with a set of new clothes, Crowley plopped down onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, arms stretched out as if crucified. His tired eyes traced the lines of artistically manufactured stucco flowing on the walls in flowery patterns before he took his sunglasses off and rubbed his face. 

Even though their brief talk had left a sense of relief inside him, Crowley felt like it had been only a teaser of what was yet to come. The little reason he had left squeaked in the back of his head, telling him about the fact that the both of them were _adults_ capable of communicating potential problems and working on those with shared forces. But, his bawling ape brain reminded him, that was where the trouble began: As embarrassing as it was, being around Aziraphale made him feel like a teenager. Angsty, over-thinking, lovesick foolishness par excellence. 

However, those weren’t the only traits defining his juvenile state of mind and it became awfully apparent to him as soon as he was looking into a big, black camera directed and blinking at him. 

_”Give us just a little impression of everything while Aziraphale’s busy,”_ the crew members had said as they had suddenly appeared in the room, building up their tripod and pinning a little microphone to his shirt. 

“Impressions?”

“Well, how do you feel about all of this? About spending your first evening with your fiancé?” 

Crowley looked like he had been abruptly challenged with Babylonian mathematics. Sighing, the producer tackling him shook her head. 

“Do you think you two are going to have _sex_ tonight?”, she kept interrogating sharply, still not used to the blunt approach she usually had to use to counter Crowley’s daftness. “Would you like to?”

Truth be told, in that very moment, Crowley lost himself along the lines of _“That’s none of your business”_ and _”I want him to part my arse like the red sea”_ , and so his tongue developed a very eloquently skilled mind of its own when taking over the thinking part for his laboured brain:  
“Ngk.”

Crowley liked sex. He had sex. Often, at that.  
Seeing Aziraphale for the first time, though, had unrolled a side inside of himself he had believed to be dead since his early twenties. He found himself so excited to get to know him – well, in the most biblical sense of knowing someone – but it wasn’t the same kind of excitement, the usual thrill of a quick shag with someone new. 

This was his fiancé. The man he was going to love and cherish for the rest of his life. Crowley was _giddy_ with anticipation to kiss him, to trace the shell of his ear with his fingers, to find his favourite spots to be tickled and fondled, whether it would be the inside of his knee, his pudgy thighs or, oh, his sturdy shoulder blades maybe- He was eager to connect his profound emotional connection to a physical one and to share any intimacy known to men with him for said rest of his life which, in his opinion, couldn’t start soon enough. 

Oddly enough, as sure as Crowley was about his own desires and willingness to act on those, Aziraphale’s disposition wasn’t as clear. When they had been in the pods, they had been talking about everything under the sun, everything but _this_ , and now, it made Crowley chew on the insides of his cheeks. 

Aziraphale didn’t seem – Crowley told himself he didn’t want to make any assumptions but his own racing mind fuelled by the still blinking camera that was directed at him did anyway – like someone who was particularly promiscuous. But this wasn’t about having one-night-stands, about being easy, this was about sleeping with someone you’ve agreed to marry. 

Again, reason told him about the wonders healthy communication could do. Ape brain just informed him that, as of yet, Aziraphale hadn’t kissed him on the mouth on his own initiative. 

“Crowley?” the producer tried again to drag something of semantic and syntactic worth out of him. 

“Well, uh, just to be clear, what’s the rating of this show again? Because I have a lot of thoughts.” The crew chuckled. “Of course, I’m excited to spend my first night with Aziraphale. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, what it would be like but…I don’t think any of my toe-curling corny fantasies are coming even near to what it feels like.”  
Crowley shifted a little on the mattress.  
“I’ve always been more of a physical person. Matching that to the deep emotional connection we made sure is something I’m looking forward to.”  
He felt like betraying Aziraphale by saying this so blithely into a camera but not to his face.  
“But I wouldn’t mind spending the evening talking or just…being in each other’s presence. The only things that matter are that he’s next to me and that I can make him as happy as he makes me.” 

As Aziraphale was watching their waiter pour them each a glass of _Dom Pérignon_ with the most joyful twinkle in his eyes, Crowley wondered if they hadn’t magically skipped from the height of summer to Christmas morning. And that wasn’t even his reaction to their meal yet. If Aziraphale was so easily pleased by fine dining, Crowley couldn’t wait to spoil him endlessly once they were back in London. What good had all his dirty money if he couldn’t at least spend it on Aziraphale’s smiles?

“Thank you so much!” Aziraphale crooned to the young man serving them after he’s lifted the silver covers from their plates and so exposed a ravishing waft of warm, hearty air. He nodded appreciatively and then walked past them and the lonely camera build up in front of them. At least there was no camera crew to witness their every breath. The topic of the prior private filming session still lingered in Crowley’s head. 

“Well,” he began and rose his sparkling glass invitingly. “To you, Angel.” 

“Me?”

“I’d propose to the world but as you said earlier on, in my case, that’d be the same thing.” 

“Oh you,” Aziraphale laughed softly and let his glass come towards Crowley’s, just to withdraw it for a little correction of their toast. “To us.” 

“Alright, to us.” 

Finally, Aziraphale clinked their glasses and then took a sip. Judging by his face, by the way he closed his eyes and pursed his lips, the sparkling wine could just as well have been Olympic nectar. His hair was still a little damp from his bath, much as his cheeks were still blooming with red from its heat. A drop of condensed water trickled from the sleek, cold glass in his hand and dripped onto the area of skin Aziraphale’s slightly opened collar presented so mockingly to Crowley; vanishing into the fair, light curls of chest hair that had Crowley speechless for a good minute. 

And as he opened his eyes again, blinking at Crowley with this multitude of unspoken love that couldn’t have been translated into words, Crowley needed no compare to know that Aziraphale had never looked better. 

_Or hotter._

Experiencing a sudden drought in his throat, Crowley took a big gulp himself and kept his eyes lingering on his glass afterwards. 

“Did you know that in some Germanic countries there’s this belief that if you don’t look into each other’s eyes while chinking glasses, you’re doomed with seven years of bad sex?” 

_What a way to start a conversation, you fucking idiot._

“Oh…!” Aziraphale seemed irritated by the subject matter Crowley was going for. “No, that’s new to me.” 

“Well, yeah, that’s what they say.” Another sip followed to keep Crowley’s mouth occupied with something other than whatever _this_ was. 

“Surely explains a lot then,” Aziraphale affected a laugh, making Crowley’s eyebrows vanish into his hairline. 

“Was there more to the vacuum cleaner of a kisser than you’ve told me?” 

“Good Lord, no!” Aziraphale pierced a piece of calamari with his fork but then stalled to put it in his mouth as if troubled to swallow down the brewing thought already lingering on the tip of his tongue first. His trouble turned into failing, and he held his breath for a quick second. 

Crowley wondered if the crew had asked Aziraphale the same set of questions when Crowley hadn’t been looking- or worse, if Aziraphale had heard his rather ambiguous answers from the other room. 

“There just are a few _occasions_ I could have done without,” he eventually said, clipped, but any uptightness got quickly outbalanced by his curiosity. “Don’t you agree?” 

“Um…” Crowley wasn’t sure whether it would be wise to keep poking but as uncomfortable Aziraphale might have seemed he still looked like he was very much willing to have this conversation. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have brought this up, would he? “I mean…Not necessarily. Some sex is clearly worse than another but it’s still better than none at all, isn’t it?” he laughed. 

“Oh.” Aziraphale slumped a little down in his chair. “I, err, I suppose.” 

“Depends on your definition of good and bad, really!” Crowley then interjected. “When you love one another and you spend this time together knowing it’s just the two of you- how bad can it be?” 

For the briefest moment, Aziraphale bit his lip before he’d smile into his plate. “I guess you’re right.” Crowley didn’t miss the air of confliction in that statement. 

“Just my opinion. But I’m more than willing to have my eyes opened if you see things differently?” 

“I don’t think I’d be able to add anything of value to the things you’ve already said,” he replied and tried to appease the other with a gentle pat on his forearm. 

Crowley sighed, catching the warm fingers in his own and gave them a good, reassuring squeeze. Before he could speak up, though, their waiter slipped back through the sliding door to refill their glasses and check up on them: “is there anything else I can do for you?”

Using the mood’s sudden shift, Aziraphale slowly pulled away. However, he wouldn’t leave Crowley’s touch until mouthing the words _”It’s fine"_ with a tired smile.  
“No, thank you, we’re perfectly happy.” 

From that point, their dinner had only continued to grow more pleasant. Not that it had been unpleasant before but Crowley simply couldn’t shake off the thought that something was up, no matter how often Aziraphale attempted to soothe his concerns, and it left him wary of the veil of paradise.  
After the waiter had left, Aziraphale had effortlessly managed to switch the topic to something more engaging, and the two of them began to relax a little. (As time progressed, the growing glasses of champagne also did their help.)

They talked about anything and nothing, about the child kicking Crowley’s seat in the plane, about the beautiful landscapes Aziraphale had mentioned earlier and his urgent wish to visit those flower fields that soon turned into a set plan. About the food, about how the _Mousse au Chocolat_ served as a dessert was so fluffy and melted so heavenly on one’s tongue – mostly on the part of Aziraphale – and about how the candles flickering on the table made Aziraphale’s skin shimmer like smooth gold in the dark of night that had fallen by now – one of Crowley’s. 

It wasn’t before the last bit of mousse had been scooped up, the last drop of champagne had been drunk and the last hearty laugh had subsided into a contented chuckle, that Crowley remembered their prior talk – or rather its topic – and all it needed was one seemingly innocent remark from Aziraphale. 

“I think I’m going to get ready for bed.” 

_Getting ready for bed_ was a loose declaration that could very well reach from preparations for various sexual acts to putting on a pyjama and gargling and spitting around mouth wash. 

Before Aziraphale got up, he reached across the table to grab Crowley’s hand, pull it to his lips and place a soft kiss on its back. “Wait for me?”, Aziraphale breathed hotly against his skin, and Crowley could only nod with a tipsy, affectionate smile. So much about clarifications and mature communication.

And so, Aziraphale went inside.  
Crowley watched him through the glass doors as he disappeared into the hallway leading to their bedroom.  
Heat climbed up into his head and glowed in the rhythm of his excited pulse against his cold palms as he pressed them to his cheeks.  
_Alright, this was happening._  
Whether something was going to happen or not, they were going to sleep in this bed together. The first night of so many more yet to come.  
Slowly, his palms started to adapt the warmth of his face, and he felt outright feverish. 

Only when the hotel staff began to take away the dinner plates and one production member had appeared out of the blue to pick up the camera, Crowley came to his senses, threw a generous tip for the waiter onto the table and went inside himself.  
He passed the lounge and entered the bedroom in which balmy air blowing from the opened window made the translucent curtains framing it swoosh over the floor. The sole sources of illumination were the faint moonlight breaking through the leaves next to the window and the orange light shining from under the bathroom’s door. Crowley put his sunglasses on one of the nightstands and then plopped onto the bed to take off his shoes and socks as well. 

Still hunched over his knees, Crowley heard the click of a lock.  
His tongue felt dry and twitchy in his mouth, brushing nervously over his teeth as if it didn’t know its own place anymore all of a sudden. Slowly, he sat up and looked to the opening bathroom door. Slow, the pace with which you’d be tiptoeing through a minefield.  
And even so, Crowley was not prepared for the explosion in his chest as he caught sight of Aziraphale again, for the blow on his heart as he saw a circle of light surrounding him like the golden aureola of a saint. 

“Oh, you’re here,” Aziraphale remarked smiling but kept lingering in the threshold for a little while.  
His plaid pyjamas fit him like a glove, holding Aziraphale’s very own, particular charm that made him look simultaneously like a bright, twenty-something lad that still wore the clothes his grandmother bought for him and a fifty-year-old early-retired literature professor. It made Crowley feel warm inside like a hot chocolate with a good shot of rum on a winter day only could, and it made him sigh. 

“Yeah,” Crowley replied, not really brilliantly witty, but their eyes did most of the talking anyway.  
One more gleam, one blink, a bat of blond butterflies against rosy cheeks, and Crowley was up on his feet.

“Tartan, huh?” he said low and approached Aziraphale with a steady lock of their eyes. 

Aziraphale pursed his lips as if in thought but then held his breath as three fingers touched his temple, stroking their way gently into his hairline. 

“It’s stylish,” he tried to fuss under his breath but instead gave into the touch, reluctant at first but then leaning into Crowley’s slender hand. Allowing the smooth thumb to find and caress the small laugh lines next to his nose, to gingerly dive into his dimples and crinkles and worship them like a marble carving’s details. 

Crowley just huffed amusedly at his note, at his warm cheeks and closed his arms around the other’s body. While Aziraphale fell compliantly into the embrace, something about him was stiff; his chest was swollen as if crammed with tension urging to be set free, and it forced another deep breath out of Crowley. 

“Hey,” Crowley said softly – as softly as his own agitation would let him – and pulled away only as much as necessary to look into his eyes, “Is everything alright?” All his efforts were put into a reassuring smile but it somehow felt crooked on his lips. “I know, I know, things are ‘new and unfamiliar’, but you look like you’re about to pop.” To take the weight of the situation – and his inappropriate joke – Crowley once again brushed over his cheekbone. “I…love you, you know?”

“Yes, why, of course!” Faster than Crowley could process, Aziraphale’s hands dashed forwards to cradle his face. “I can assure you, everything is alright. More than just alright, actually, tickety-boo, all this!” 

No one could say _tickety-boo_ with such a strike of feigned excitement and not look entirely maniacally while doing so. And Crowley would have loved to call him out on that fact if his usually quick mouth wouldn’t have been taken to use by Aziraphale first. 

Aziraphale pressed his lips against Crowley’s and caused a sharp, effective short circuit in his head. 

At first, there was panting, the initial shock flickering white in front of one’s eyes but then, gently, there followed Aziraphale’s hand moving against Crowley’s lower back, holding him warm and firm and suddenly, it was so foolishly easy to lose yourself in the pleasant tickling running up your spine. Intoxicated on the feeling of being kissed by Aziraphale for the first time, Crowley clung to him like a helpless drunk afraid to fall from his high; he clung to him and their more and more prolonged kiss spoiling his reason. 

“Right…” he whispered a little hoarse when Aziraphale eventually turned away, his lips pulled into a faint, unreadable smile. 

Two of his fingers slipped under the backside of Crowley’s shirt and tapped in slow strokes over the sleek small of his back, coaxing goosebumps to grow against their tips. Crowley breathed heavily out of his nose. 

“Let’s go to bed, yes?” 

Before he knew what was happening, Crowley was frantically guided to the bed and pushed onto the mattress. It hadn’t been brutish in the slightest and yet, this rough eagerness wasn’t something he had really expected from Aziraphale. But he knew better than to protest, especially with the delicious preview of Aziraphale’s strength that was offered to him as the other propped himself next to his shoulders, torsos barely touching but buzzing with tension. 

Crowley reached out, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s neck to bring him down for another kiss, splishy and messier than the last and causing his angel to sink down. He loved the feeling of his weight pushing down on him, the feeling of the most comfortable blanket there must be. 

Scattered moonlight hit Crowley’s pale chest after Aziraphale had ushered him to sit up so he could strip his form-fitting shirt from his body, apparently not interested in _wasting_ any time. 

“Wow, you’re-…” Crowley was interrupted by a series of open-mouthed, hasty kisses along his pulse that made him throw his head into his neck. Aziraphale’s lips moved in oddly fierce, wet circles, letting electric shocks of desire dart over his skin wherever they went. “You’re…oh, you’re good…” 

Crowley’s fingers clasped the fabric of his top for support but then felt the dire need to meet with naked skin: They teased, shoving the seam back and forth and even slipped under the elastic band of his slacks once as Aziraphale explored the sensitive skin behind Crowley’s right ear so fervently. 

“Fuck, Angel-…!” he uttered breathless with delight and blindly rubbed his burning cheeks, his pointy nose against the other in a frenzy to find his lips. Aziraphale kept quiet.

It wasn’t before Aziraphale’s kisses grew quicker, more shallow and empty that Crowley eventually noticed.  
Not before Aziraphale leaned his head labouredly against Crowley’s shoulders, breathing in rapid fits and squeezing his blear eyes shut did even the last part of Crowley’s mind _finally_ understand that something was terribly, thoroughly wrong. 

And as Crowley recognized the sheer _panic_ in his pallid face, he damned himself that it had to come to this first. 

“Hey? Hey, Angel, hey…! It’s fine, everything is fine,” he mumbled in his own shock and tried his humanly best to keep his voice down and slow. 

“I’m sorry, I’m-…Oh, I’m sorry, so dreadfully sorry…”

Crowley carefully brought them both to lie down, wrapping one arm protectively around the panting Aziraphale next to him. “No, no, it’s okay, I promise. You don’t have to feel sorry. You just have to breathe, alright? Can you do that? Breathe calm and deep breaths for me?” 

Aziraphale couldn’t properly answer, too caught up in a dry swallow blocking his airway and following the task. 

“It’s fine, you’re doing great. So great, my dove. Look, I’m here and I’m not leaving. Everything’s okay, just relax and keep breathing. Yeah, just like that.” At this point, Crowley was only repeating himself, speaking in his whispered mantras and encouragements. But it helped Aziraphale to find a sustainable rhythm, to ease into Crowley’s arms bit by bit. And it was, if only briefly, dealing with Crowley’s feeling of absolute uselessness. “I love you so much, ‘Zira, it’s going to be fine, whatever it is.” 

Minutes that could have been hours had passed, and at last, Aziraphale’s breath blew in soft waves against Crowley’s chest as he nestled his forehead against the bony collarbone. His cheeks were sticky from the salty tears that had subconsciously escaped him.

“Crowley?” he asked, huskily. 

“Yes?”

“Can we…can you tell me something? Anything, really, just…something.” 

“Uh sure, love! Um…” Crowley looked around in the dark room, then deepened the embrace and accidentally nudged Aziraphale’s feet. He smiled tiredly into Aziraphale’s crown of hair. “Are you actually wearing socks to bed, you pig? They’re always the first thing you should take off!”

“It’s healthier this way,” Aziraphale sniffed. 

“Says who?” 

“I’ve watched a report on the telly saying it helps you sleep.”

“I can’t believe it, my fiancé’s one of those odd people wearing socks to bed. You think you know this person and then-“ It was Aziraphale’s chuckle that hit him right in his heart and made him stop on the spot. “I love you,” he continued instead. 

“Even with the socks?”

“Don’t push your luck.” Crowley’s fingers brushed through Aziraphale’s tousled hair. “No, of course, even with the socks.” 

“Mh…” Aziraphale hummed exhaustedly. For a while, they just lay there, holding each other. “I’ve made quite a mess of things.” 

“Nah, it’s okay.” 

“I didn’t want to taint the memory of our first evening with such a tearful ending.”

“Nothing’s tainted. I’m just worried. You’ve been acting strange the entire time and…well…this is a thing that happened as well.” Crowley took a deep breath. “Are you having second thoughts?” 

Aziraphale caught his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“No, it’s um…quite the contrary. Right now, I’m more convinced about this than I’ve ever been before. The thing is…”  
A slight tremor shook through his hands that were lying on Crowley’s ribcage.  
“How does one say this without looking stupid…” 

“Shush.” 

“Well, I-…I haven’t been, um…” _Honest? Meaning all the things I’ve said before?_ “…intimate with anyone in a long time.” 

“Oh.” Crowley’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “For how long?” 

“…Almost seven years, I believe.” 

“That’s…well, that’s…First off, that’s definitely not stupid.” 

“It’s what it is.”

“And you weren’t ready to start having sex again just now or…?”

“Not really.” 

“Why didn’t you just say so?”

“This is where it starts to get absurd.”

“Hit me, I like absurd.” 

Aziraphale smiled wryly. 

“The last time had been with my previous partner – you know, the one I told you about.” 

The spots behind Crowley’s eyes began to painfully roar with the memories of that conversation. “That proper wanker who forced you to come out to your parents?”

He nodded. “It had been a hard year, you see.” Softly, he drew various patterns on Crowley’s flat stomach with his fingertips, sheer displacement activity. “The bookshop hadn’t been running well and some shady real estate characters made outrages offerings to buy it from me. My parents who already resented me for the decision to start my own business instead of following the plans they had in mind for me were-…shocked isn’t quite the right word. They knew about my sexuality, somehow they’ve always known. I reckon they were simply disappointed I couldn’t suppress it, spare them this one last public humiliation. And, naturally, my relationship with Henry suffered a great deal from it.” 

Crowley caught his fidgety fingers, held them tight and compassionately. 

“As I said, it had been a hard, _hard_ year and I wasn’t in the best of places, um… _mentally_. Today, I don’t feel any shame about it because I know seeking out help was the right thing to do and I’m a much healthier person now. But back then, without an actual system of support, it was unbearably frightening.”  
Another humourless laugh.  
“We’re getting to the point soon, I promise.” 

“I don’t mind you talking. Get it all out.” 

Aziraphale gasped very lightly and then planted a kiss so affectionate on Crowley’s cheek, it almost broke his heart. His lips lingered there for a little while, simply bestowing him with their softness. “Oh, what have I done to deserve you?” 

“You must be joking, Angel,” Crowley snorted but the cherry-red tips of his ears betrayed him. “Get on with your story.” 

“Very well.” He nestled back into his former position. “I was prescribed some medication that did indeed help me to get back on track, and with a lot of work, everything sorted itself out, more or less. But while I was on those meds, I gained a lot of weight, and… another side effect that was very apparent for me was how low my sexual drive had become. Much to Henry’s…eh, chagrin.”

He fell silent for a little while that Crowley’s rotten imagination utilised to come up with the worst.

“He never imposed himself physically on me, no, no…” Aziraphale mumbled but his voice was still soaked with such turmoil, Crowley feared he’d panic again. “But…he wasn’t kind about it, either. The first few times he didn’t say anything, but after a particularly stressful day, he told me off, so to speak. He, um…he asked me how I expected him to stay faithful to me if I’d deny him what was his.”

“That’s so… _fucked_.”

“He said that intercourse was so essential for the maintenance of our relationship that it’d be egoistic of me to withdraw it completely, that I would just get over and done with it if I really loved him. And…” Aziraphale’s voice slowly died down into a whisper so, so faint it could have made an angel cry if someone from above had cared to listen. “…that I really must be an idiot for romanticising life so much to come to think someone…someone could love me without sex.” 

“Aziraphale…”

“I’m sorry but I…can’t, not tonight.” 

“I just wish you would have…talked to me about it. Because then, I could have told you way sooner that you shouldn’t have to worry about any of that stuff. We don’t have to have sex, not this night and not the night after. And even if you’ll never feel ready for it, _Hell_ , we’ll find some kind of solution for it!” Crowley was shaking. “Shit, and now I just remember the bullshit I’ve said at dinner. You must have felt terrible, fuck-” He sat up, indirectly forcing Aziraphale to do so too, and looked into the pair of puffy eyes he had learnt to adore so much.  
“I’m sorry someone said something so cruel and utterly untrue to you. You’re the last person on earth I’d ever call egoistic or any of those ridiculous things he said. I’ve never met anyone as lovable as you and I didn’t even need to see you to know that. I-“ Crowley rambled himself in such a rage he stumbled over his own words. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale continued for him, and his weary calmness clashed with Crowley’s restlessness, dumbfounding Crowley for a second. 

“Please talk to me,” Crowley said. Crowley didn’t beg and he never had. But maybe, this was the closest he’s ever gotten to a beg. “We need to talk about things like this. Even if it’s rough and uncomfortable. Things aren’t always going to be nice, and I need to trust you knowing that you’re going to tell me, about the nice and the bad things. Just like I need you to trust me.”

Love alone wouldn’t fix anything. It wouldn’t save nor grow on its own. It was just humanity’s greatest soil. But Crowley was willing to work for it, to get his hands dirty and trust. 

“I will,” Aziraphale said, closing his eyes and kissing Crowley’s shoulder. “I will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!!!


	6. fell off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have absolutely nothing to say for myself. University bad, discipline even worse :(  
> Anyway, I'm very very happy to post this update!!! We have loooots of fluff, we have CW: mentioning of homophobia and physical abuse. Everyone, we are on the trajectory for our drama! I am soooo pumped to write the next chapter and I'll start with it as soon as I'm done writing my term paper ehehe.  
> Thank you so much for your patience and enjoy ♥
> 
> (Also, everybody say thanks to this song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R02k6PV1T2k , it heavily inspired me to write again)

_28 DAYS UNTIL WEDDINGS_

It might have been a beam of light. Might have been a press of lips. 

But as Crowley felt his consciousness crawl back into his mind and the very tips of his toes, leisurely dawning behind his eyelids like the early sun lazily bathing in golden clouds, it had been for the faint tingling sensation coiling underneath the skin of his shoulders that he eventually woke up.  
He turned his head around to catch its source only to find fair curls nestled against the curve of his shoulder, joining rousing forces with the deep, warm breaths of air drawn out over his skin like a wafting, thick feather. If it had been up to Crowley, he would have closed his eyes again and would have spent his entire day in bed. Serving as a living canvas for the brushes that were the ends of Aziraphale’s hair, his breath, his velvety fingertips Crowley only now noticed to rest on his uncovered waist; being painted by serenity, by love.  
Crowley’s movements, however, turned the warm puffs of air into a gentle jab: Aziraphale chuckled. 

“Good morning, love,” he hummed. Though drowsy, his voice was still rich, buzzing with such mellifluousness it provoked a painfully lovestruck tug on Crowley’s heartstrings that made him sigh. 

“Mhh…morning.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, like a babe in arms,” Crowley croaked out, still battling the tangible ache of his affection, now transpiring into his stomach. “I don’t remember going to sleep, though. Did we…did we just crash out while talking?” 

“You did,” Aziraphale laughed quietly. “I was only just able to convince you to take off your pants before you went out like a light again. I’ve never seen someone fall asleep so quickly – and so deeply! Oh! Did you know you talk in your sleep?” 

Heat sloshed over Crowley’s cheeks. “Not until right now. I didn’t keep you up with it, did I?” 

“Maybe a wee bit but considering how entertaining it was, I might even forgive you.”

“So? What did I say?” Crowley now fully turned around, propping his head on his elbow and grinning at the man beside him. Seeing Aziraphale with his own eyes still held this electrifying thrill, this fluttering in his chest that made him feel as if he was flying. The stubble on the other’s face wasn’t helping that fact.  
His fingers reached for Aziraphale’s tousled hair, tenderly ruffling it even more. “Bad things only, I hope. Was it something profane, something vile?”

Vainly, Aziraphale suppressed a beaming smile. His nostrils and lips were twitching as if he was on the verge of exploding with amusement. 

“You were talking about geese.”

“ _Geese_ ,” Crowley repeated confused. 

“Yes, geese. You were positively enraged about geese. Venting about how ‘they have no business having rows of pointy teeth and especially not on their tongues’.”  
Aziraphale’s little laugh vibrated faintly on their shared mattress.  
“I think there even was a bit about how they were one of your many proofs God didn’t care about us, how he couldn’t possibly with geese existing but you became rather incoherent at that point. I’ve never seen someone become so emotional about birds’ dental anatomy.”

“Sounds like me,” Crowley mumbled and pulled himself closer to Aziraphale, rubbing his cheek against his cushioned collarbone until he found a comfortable position to doze against. “Mh…hellspawn, all of them…”

“Are you drifting off on me again?” Aziraphale carefully slid his fingers into the strands of auburn on the back of Crowley’s head, stroking so heavenly into his hairline, Crowley had to actively keep himself from drooling onto his chest. “Am I so boring to you that you’d rather dream about teeth again?”

Crowley snorted and buried his face deeper into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck.  
“Oh, I’ll show you teeth.”  
Quickly, he braced himself to let great plenty of kisses hail down on Aziraphale’s neck, pretending to bite him with his lips pulled over his teeth and relentlessly grazing his creamy skin until Aziraphale was a mere squirmy, giggling mess. 

“Stop it, you silly goose!” 

Crowley only complied as much as he redistributed his kisses to the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth. The distance was shortly closed by Aziraphale with a last self-indulgent smack on Crowley’s lips before he would wrap his arms around his fiancé’s lankier body. 

“A certain someone promised me to go for a walk in the flower fields today,” he remarked playfully testy, even scrunching up his nose as if disapproving of Crowley’s fondling but the doting glimmer in his eyes surrounded by merry laughter lines gave him away. 

“That certain someone didn’t know about how comfortable you’d turn out to be when making that promise.” 

When Crowley had kissed him, his cheeks had been rubbing against Aziraphale’s, against his burgeoning, scratchy stubble that gifted Crowley with not only the sweetest burn tingling on his skin but also with the dizzying fantasy of that same sting softly scraping along his own thighs...

“Then again, I really should take a shower,” he said, squirming out of the embrace to avoid any conceived imagery that could go further up than his thighs.  
A little started by the sudden vigour, Aziraphale’s knee slightly twitched and brushed against Crowley’s groin.  
_Cold shower_ , he added in his mind, _coldest they have_. 

Crowley was thankful for the important bond they’ve made last night. Although it had been only one of a few more walls to tear down together, they already felt so much more comfortable being physical with each other. He wouldn’t want to jeopardise that current progress with an awkward boner of all things, even if that seemed highly unlikely. 

“Yes, we should get a move on. I have a feeling the producer’s been lurking outside the door for half an hour now,” Aziraphale said conspiratorially before breaking out into laughter. “Poor thing will be drilling us with questions about last night, hoping to get something to wag one’s tongue about.”

“Too bad we’re so boring,” Crowley said, smirking at the camera in the corner he noticed to blink again after it had stopped around 2 am, and then getting up to pick up fresh clothes. 

“I don’t even know what to tell them,” Aziraphale confessed and sat up, looking to his fiancé for some guidance. 

“Well, you could start with the truth. Though, if you want to pin some odd kinks on me, you need to tell me now, so I can play along later.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Aziraphale wrung his hands. “Why would anyone be interested in our sex life anyway? What’s it to them?”

“Dunno. Humans are apes.” Crowley shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t have an embarrassingly broad knowledge about bad Reality TV and the captivating effects of the mere topic of sex. “If you ask me, just tell them everything while telling them nothing substantial at all really. Do what you’re best at, be a right bastard about it.”  
Crowley gave him a last encouraging if mocking peck on the lips before aiming for the bathroom.  
“Give ‘em hell, Angel.” 

(Later when Crowley was already in the shower, massaging his shampoo into his scalp for way longer than he needed to so he could keep the water turned off and quiet – he listened to Aziraphale’s self-righteous rambling of concocted, pharisaically old-fashioned phrases coming from the bedroom.  
_”…and I’m a gentleman. I don’t kiss and tell. But all of that should go without saying since…”_  
Crowley snorted so loud, he wondered if it’d end up on the recording.)

After they’ve had visited the picturesque historic district of town for a lavish, French breakfast filling them with heavenly fluffy white bread and a plethora of homemade jams, of regional honey, golden, creamy butter and so much more, Aziraphale and Crowley started their march towards the town’s outskirts. They weren’t filmed by anything more than the small camcorder the production team provided them with to record some snippets of updates on their own; the actual cameras were stationed at the ‘surprise’ that was waiting in the flower field for them. 

Crowley couldn’t remember the last time he went for a walk, though, he was certain he’s never been on one that put his mind at such ease. Mind you, it was the first walk the love of his life strolled beside him, the first walk his hand was clasped so excitedly just because Aziraphale discovered an antique bookshop in a charming, overgrown alley (despite not knowing any French yet very determined to visit it the other day), the first walk he actually _enjoyed_.  
Aziraphale made it so easy. 

It was in the lavender fields then that Crowley’s unusually serene mind was possessed by a mighty whim. Engulfed in the thick scents of aromatic olive trees and evergreen cypress whirling lazily in the warm air around him, he saw himself in a nice little cottage in a good few years. The vast, seemingly endless sea of lilac, hazy and dark blue buds bending their heads like pastel waves in the wind made him think of the garden he could lay out there. And, of course, it was a laugh of a bell – a bell both delicate in size and sound and simultaneously as large and reverend as the old church bell watching over the fields from the rustic, stony Provencal chapel they’ve passed – that reminded him of simpler things; of taking time to laugh about clumsy bumblebees prodding flowers, of the conscious choice to _breathe_. 

“I have something for you,” Aziraphale hummed, taking a single lavender stem out of the woven basket they were allowed to fill and gently stuck it behind Crowley’s ear. He handled Crowley’s hair and skin with so much care, Crowley felt like he was one of the dainty buds, blooming with heat against Aziraphale’s knuckles that were tenderly brushing his cheek when their work was done. “There you go, love.” 

It was in the lavender fields that Crowley decided that there was nothing he wanted more in life than to settle down in a nice little cottage someday with Aziraphale and be taught how to laugh and breathe day by day again. 

Crowley knew he was probably just drunk on love and the intense gust of lavender aroma condensing the air but he was sure his sober state wouldn’t ever settle for anything less than this idea after taking in the picture of Aziraphale’s mesmerised face as Crowley knotted one long lavender stem into a messy ring to shove over his finger. 

“Now we match,” he explained, and Aziraphale looked like he was on the verge of dropping their basket onto the dusty, trodden-in earth to their feet. 

Punished with the sun’s angry red marks on their exposed necks, they caught sight of the first camera after a solid hour of walking along the fields and plucking a moderate amount of flowers; not too much but enough to saturate their current home with its soothing, therapeutic fragrance later.  
At the prospect of imminent rest, Aziraphale’s usual happy wiggle made itself known in a bounce enlivening his steps that had started to become rather sluggish just moments prior. 

The _surprise_ turned out to be a swing hammock, crème-coloured linen loosely hanging from two closely standing almond trees. The literal cherry on top was a bucket filled with ice that not only held a fancy bottle of sparkling wine at a pleasant temperature for them but also contained itself with summer fruit covered in dark chocolate. (Crowley might have been responsible for that last addition after Aziraphale had once dropped in passing that he did indeed like chocolate-covered fruit, but even if that would have been the case, Crowley didn’t mention it.) 

“Oh, how lovely!” Aziraphale sighed, carefully set the basket down in the thirsty grass at the left tree’s foot and tried to plunk into the hammock as dignified as possible. Physics thwarted his foolish, hubristic plans and as a result, he was fluttering with his arms to regain balance, looking like a fledgeling about to fall out of its nest. 

As soon as Crowley took place next to him, cheekily spreading his own legs over Aziraphale’s lap, the hammock’s missing stretch almost caused both their backsides to kiss the hard ground underneath them, but they were happy to be seated at all. 

“You took longer than expected,” the member of the sound crew, the one with spiky hair and the smell of spicy, cold mint following their every movement, giggled as they attached their mics to their shirts. “Bets were going on whether you’d still arrive or we’d have to send out a search party because you two were doing _whatever_ in those flower fields.”

“My dear Crowley was choosing our pickings with meticulous precision, you must know,” Aziraphale explained with a smirk, smoothing down the fabric of Crowley’s pants that were hugging his thighs far too tightly for this temperature. 

“Ngk,” his dear Crowley made, pointing nonchalantly at the basket. “Of course, I did. You expect me to let you leave with welting stuff after you’ve been raving about those flowers for so long? You know me better than that.” 

“I do, I do.” Aziraphale chuckled into the kiss he planted indulgently on his cheek despite the sweaty sheen covering Crowley’s skin, despite the camera that was now focusing on them. “Thank you so much.” 

“Alright guys,” the cameraman, probably priorly instructed by the producer as she wasn’t to be found around the present crew, interrupted their little banter and gave them a thumbs up. “I need you to act as natural as you would without us. Just like you did in the pods back then, alright?”

Although the view of Aziraphale and the inexplicable glow encompassing him usually made the task of letting Crowley’s surroundings fade into a blur of colours and sounds easier than tying your own shoelaces, acting naturally in a situation as, well, _unnatural_ as this surely brought its intricacies. 

Rather than letting short silence take its reign, Crowley’s smart lawyer brain did mental backflips to come up with something to talk about. Spluttering “Alcohol!” and reaching for the cooled Champagne was an undeniably strong start.  
It needed Aziraphale’s hand gently fondling his knee until it would rest on there, warm and heavy and with such unforced serenity, that he managed to just silently nestle against his fiancé.

“I was thinking,” Aziraphale then said, lowly and with one foot still caught in said thought. 

“So? Let me have a share in your joy,” Crowley teased as Aziraphale had gone silent as if those words were never supposed to leave his lips; lips sweet and glistening from the cold chocolate grazing them. 

“Lavender,” he began but was shortly interrupted by a sip of champagne and the following, relishing sigh as the bubbly fizz mingled with the taste of strawberry on his tongue as their dance floor. He gulped hard when he noticed the conversation wouldn’t move on without his further input. “Wouldn’t it be lovely to have some lavender at the wedding?” 

“Wedding-…” Aziraphale was thinking about flowers at the wedding. Their wedding. The wedding they were getting married at in less than a month. _That_ wedding. “Sure, Angel. Everything you want.” 

“I believe it could be a nice memory of _this_ ,” Aziraphale mumbled, letting his gaze wander over the endless fields, over the hills and the ancient Roman ruins ornamenting the scenery in the far distance. “We could use them as a smooth transition to tell our guests about our voyage.” 

“Oh, you have been _really_ thinking about it, huh?” 

“Don’t get me started on my ideas for the cake.” 

They shared a soft laugh that subdued into hums; quiet, rather making place for the sound of birds hopping from branch to branch. 

Eventually, Aziraphale broke the silence again, and even though it was voiced just as toned-down, it felt like a scream in Crowley’s ear, like a deafening screech that should have sent the birds soar abruptly into the air:

“I’m considering to invite my parents.” 

Deep lines carved themselves into Crowley’s forehead as he tried to process Aziraphale’s statement for everything it was. 

“I thought…” Crowley hesitated, unsure of the correct approach to take. “I thought you said they wouldn’t come either way.” 

“And I’m still convinced that will be the case. I just…” Aziraphale’s hands dropped into his lap as a doleful shiver ran through his body. 

“Hey…” Before he could anxiously squish his hands between his knees as Aziraphale seemed to do whenever something troubled him, Crowley took them and pulled them affectionately to his chest.

“I just desperately wish I could be wrong about it this time.” 

Watching the way Aziraphale’s shoulders dropped, hiding his neck and chin with them, every time he spoke about his family, felt like a bucket of petrol was being poured all over Crowley’s head. To see him become so small, so burned-out and robbed of his glow, however, was the match to set it all alight: Crowley’s worries, his _anger_ were blazing on his tongue. 

“It would mean a lot to me,” Aziraphale continued, almost whispering. 

“I understand they’re your family and you’re hurting, I really do, Angel. But you don’t need them nor their blessings.” 

“I don’t want their blessings. I don’t even need them to understand me, any of this.” Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand before letting it go limp in his grip. 

“What do you want then?” Crowley tried to nudge him to an answer as tentatively as his own state of mind would allow him. Immediately, his front teeth came crashing down on his tongue, keeping that wild beast from lashing out. 

“I’m…simply tired of only getting lukewarm calls on Christmas and birthdays, or maybe getting informed when one of my grand-aunts passed on. I want…I want them to be my parents, I want them to show me their love even if I’m doing wrong in their eyes, give me the same forgiveness they’ve preached to me…I-…”  
Aziraphale’s short agitation died down, shrivelling into quiet, into desolation.  
“I want to be able to forgive them.” 

“How…How can you forgive someone who doesn’t want to be forgiven? If they’d at least try to make amends, try to…show the tiniest spark of regret of their actions, you could-…You don’t owe them anything.” 

“I owe it to myself, Crowley.” If it wasn’t for his chest moving, it would have looked like Aziraphale hadn’t been breathing at all. “All that frustration, all that bewilderment over their ignorance and hypocrisy, all that-…all that internalised hatred. I’d love to just-…God, just take it and dump it into the sea. I _want_ to forgive them and take that power away from them, from their words and actions.” 

As frustration and bewilderment, as _hatred_ for people he’s never seen before seized control over his body, Crowley once more understood that Aziraphale’s strength was something he’d never achieve. 

“I’m-…” He sighed deeply, urgently struggling to come to his senses and forget about his fury for _five blasted minutes_ so he could support his Angel, encourage him as he desperately needed it; _fucking catch_ him as he had promised when going on his knee for him. “If you want to invite them, then you should. If you feel like it will help you, then I’m by your side. No matter how things will turn out, I’m here with you, alright?” 

Nodding briskly, the first and only tear was set off to roll down Aziraphale’s rosy cheek. He shivered, obviously overwhelmed by the sudden waves of emotions and fighting against it. 

“I just don’t want them to harm you any further, you know. Maybe it’s not my place to talk about it, since it’s _your_ family and all but…” Crowley adjusted the little, now flaccid lavender ring, still sitting on Aziraphale’s finger. “You are _my_ family and I care about you. And not gonna lie, but your parents are bloody idiots if they can’t see what a caring, good-hearted and intelligent child they’ve been gifted with.” 

Despite the unshed tears collecting and twinkling in his eyes, he nodded again, smiling and breathing shakily. “Oh,” he made, shallow and with a faltering voice, just a filler before he’d regain composure, “Thanks, I…oh…” 

“It’s fine, take your time.” 

“You-,” he rasped before clearing his throat and sitting up with broadened shoulders. “You never really told me much about your coming out. What do your parents think about your sexuality?”

“Ah, well, you see, my parents never really cared about that. They wouldn’t get away with being openly homophobic, anyway, not in that field. You wouldn’t believe how many queer lawyers there are,” Crowley chuckled, gladly delivering his angel some distraction. “It was my father who once said that everyone should be allowed to suffer the torments of marriage. I think that’s the best you will ever get out of him.” 

“Charming,” Aziraphale huffed in response, absently fiddling with the ring on Crowley’s finger like the redhead’s been doing with the lavender. 

Crowley silently watched him for some time and then sighed. Not in exasperation, impatience or so, but his own sharp compassion stabbing his lungs and urging him to pull Aziraphale into his arms. “I’m so sorry, dove.”

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have brought it up right now.”  
Crowley already took a deep breath to reprimand him, but Aziraphale cut in.  
“No, you’re right, I promised to talk about the things bothering me. But-…Oh, Crowley, I just wish things would have turned out differently between them and me. I can’t help but wonder what would have been if I had been ready to admit to it and actually stand up for myself back then. I don’t know if they would have listened, but I would have tried to explain, educate them maybe with a patient heart and mind…Maybe our relationship wouldn’t have shattered, or, I don’t know, maybe it had to come to this-…Maybe I would have never met you if all of this hadn’t happened…!” 

“…That may be,” Crowley interjected softly, locking eyes. “But still, you don’t deserve this, any of that. I feel like you shouldn’t excuse and treat your pain like it was some inevitable part of the journey of finding good things in life. Dunno, I don’t want to deprive you of that if it gives you comfort but you deserve good things, either way, you know?” Faintly, his anger simmered through his concerns again. “Also, no one should be ever forced to come out. You mustn’t ever tell me that wanker’s full name, I’d find him and wouldn’t know how to keep myself from-…“ _doing something that made being castrated with a butter knife – fully unanaesthetised, naturally – seem rather pleasant._  
Crowley went silent. 

“Although it’s just an explanation and by no means an excuse, I think, he didn’t do it out of pure malice or something similar: He was scared, worried and, well, simply sick of being a secret. At that point, we had been _’roommates’_ for years. He…He genuinely believed it would help me, help us.” Leaning his head against Crowley’s shoulder, he sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter. It happened – and I forgave him, even if my mind’s so restless from time to time.”

Knowing Aziraphale’s definition of forgiveness, his willingness and urge to be _free_ from all resentment, the statement sent chills down Crowley’s spine. 

“And then again, as I said, it doesn’t excuse things. However, I only understood that when he...when he hit me that one time.” The almond trees’ leaves rustled in the back, unimposing as if they too waited for Aziraphale’s delayed continuation. “It was only once, only done in the heat of the moment and he apologised, oh he did...Yet, I had to leave. He always said that he needed me and my love to show there’s still some hope for him, ‘said that as long as I could forgive and see the good in him, he could be good for me.” 

Underneath his skin, Crowley could feel something crawl up his chest, something cold and scaly. 

“Yes, your partner should believe in you, inspire you to be the best version of yourself, but you can’t solely rely on this. There is good in everyone, I believe, but…you can’t expect your partner to be the one to forcefully drag it out of you, to be the one person responsible for your absolution.”

Cold-blooded and slick, it slithered upwards to coil around his neck and _constrict_.

“I learnt that you can’t fix people.”

He cho _ked, God, why did no one see he was being choked-_

“But that’s something we don’t have to worry about,” Aziraphale said, calm and unswervingly convinced while tenderly cradling Crowley’s pale face, “because I _know_ you.” 

Crowley looked down as something lilac flashed down, landing in his lap. 

“Oh no,” Aziraphale voiced softly. His lavender ring had untied. “It fell off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING


	7. lilac adoration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello, hello ♥  
> There we go, I finally got around to finish this! Things with Crowley are woozy atm but they'll hopefully make sense soon, ehehe. First things first!:  
> 1\. One of my best friends drew the BEAUTIFUL art for this chapter (all SFW) and I'd love for you to check her out! Her IG is @trs.hlrd and on her youtube @trshlrd you can find some of her Good Omens animations♥♥♥ (I have these pictures sinCE CHAPTER FOUR AND I COULDN'T SHARE THEM, WOULD YOU BELIEVE ME-)  
> 2\. I also commissioned a little something from the amazingly talented @freedomattack_thereal on IG and put it at the end of chapter one, give it a good look and then search her on IG, you won't regret it, haha ♥
> 
> TW: mentioning of anxiety, explicit sexual content (wahoo) and a teensy Doctor Who reference for cool people. Enjoy! ♥

Crowley had been born with a snake weighing down his shoulders.

_”What the fuck is wrong with you?!”_

It hadn’t had to fight the Angel or the Devil commonly occupying either side for its spot – it had just swallowed them both whole in one gulp. Ever since, it struggled to digest such heavy meal, belching acid and the occasional kind word.

 _”Why are you like this? Who-…Who_ hurt _you?”_

The snake fed on _this_. It drank itself fat and turgid on the vitriol spat at Crowley only so it could curl its body, no longer slim or elegant, around his throat and constrict. So it could dart its tongue alongside the shell of his ear – clammy, rough strokes wielded with its scales’ opposite grind – and convince him of the things he already believed.  
And in this desperate gasp for breath, in this blind, infuriated frenzy of snapping their teeth at each other just for the snake to bite its own tail, Crowley sometimes spewed his own venom at those unlucky enough to frequent in his emotional splash zone.

_”You can’t keep doing things like this to the people you claim to-”_

“Love?”

Crowley’s head shot up to find Aziraphale stand at the door of their current bedroom. A fidgety hand fiddled with the door handle, letting it snap up and down.

"Yeah?" he rasped while his own hands ran over his face as if trying to wipe the pensive look from his furrowed brows.

For a little while, Aziraphale lingered in-between rooms, in-between pronouncing the words burgeoning on his tongue and downing them, and then, he made a decision:  
Crowley caught the sound of the gentle klick of their door, that of young bedsprings creaking and squeaking in reserved lament as the mattress dipped under the weight of another person behind him.

"Are you sure you still want to go?"

The smell followed quickly and foremost, intensely. A sweet, sharp bite, both floral and reminiscent of the spice of pine and resin. Crowley turned around, and his eyes met Aziraphale's forehead, wrinkled in cautious confusion and worry, his slightly slumped shoulders and the basket filled with lavender his arm ended in.

"Wha-...Yeah, yeah, of course. I just need to change real quick."

"Well, you've said the same thing seven minutes ago and since then, you've just been sitting here topless."

"I'm..." Crowley looked down on himself, holding the black shirt that was still damp from their trip in the burning sun in his hands. “Maybe the hike was more exhausting to me than I first thought.”

Aziraphale smiled wryly. “Is it the hike or the things obviously plaguing your mind?”

The words hit Crowley’s brooding forehead like a dart meeting the bull’s eye; shame pooled hot from there, making it its epicentre to gush all over his cheeks.

“’ _Obviously_ ’,” Crowley snorted.

“Painfully, so.”

Crowley pushed himself from the bed, coming to a wobbly stand. “I soaked up more of the sun today than in my entire life before. My pale arse probably just doesn’t know how to process this shock of vitamins.”

Up and ready to throw the worn shirt into his suitcase, he abruptly came to a halt. Something was tickling on his skin, surprising him with a sudden brush as smooth as wax.

“Speaking off which,” Aziraphale mumbled, dragging the tip of one sturdy lavender stem over the small of Crowley’s back, light and easy as if he were painting airy clouds into the blue sky. “By which I don’t mean your beautiful behind, mind you. But the sun really got you there.”

The skin of his nape encountered infinitesimal nudges, careful not to hurt its irritated surface.

“What would you say,” the blond continued as unbothered and serene as the sea in his eyes, “if we were to stay in? I could put some lotion on you poor thing, read to you afterwards. The city’s not going anywhere soon, and neither are we. There’ll be other opportunities to go for a stroll, I’m sure.”

“Well, if you put it like _that_ …”

Aziraphale did not immediately make an effort to get up and look for a lotion but he did chuckle and put down the lavender to neatly roll up his sleeves; both things that were as efficient in the task of making Crowley forget about his burning skin. He sat down again.

A deep sigh escaped Crowley as the lavender was picked up again to mischievously poke around in his hairline, tickle the sensitive skin behind his ears.

“You know, our conversation earlier just made me think a little, that’s all,” he then tried to explain, unable to withstand Aziraphale’s caring silence and underlying offer to speak up whenever ready to any further. “It’s nothing really. I was…well, _am_ hurt for you.”

Not that Crowley was the most empathetic person, nor would he ever describe himself as a person highly indifferent to human emotions (though he knew how to reverse this, how to use empathy for his own advantage and ultimately for that of his clients), but Aziraphale had made him a dry sponge, ravenously soaking up his sentiments only from sitting silently next to one another. Aziraphale’s pain, however, often manifested in Crowley’s anger, and what a marvellous snack anger was for the predator on his shoulders.

The lavender’s tip danced from the bend of his neck to his spine, making scuffling circles around its joints.

“And then you said you’d know me and…” He grated the insides of his cheeks with his back teeth, hard and punishingly. “…I can’t help myself but feel like you’re going to be disappointed.”

“Disappointed?”

“Disappointed to see that I’m not that good of a person you take me for.”

“Right,” Aziraphale exhaled, his lashes fluttering for a moment barely perceptible but the worry, vast in his eyes kept the illusion of a widened stare. “Where did that come from now?”

It must have been a Sunday afternoon when he had made her cry so hard that little veins burst underneath her eyes. The tension of her brutally clenched jaw had reached up to her eyes, up to her cheekbones puffy and swollen from hot saltwater and ruined mascara; right, she had only worn mascara for church on Sundays. The screaming hadn’t stopped until Monday morning. The neighbours had been ringing and knocking in rage, but Crowley had pretended not to hear them over the foul curses, not in the mood to apologise to yet another person.

It must have been New Years when the taste of questionable choices – the revolting sweetness of vomit and nicotine, both coating his tongue and teeth like sticky soot – had awoken him, had made him hurl bile on Lucian’s kitchen floor. His hips had been damp, cold, and they had been aching. The realisation that this hadn’t been the first time had made him whimper and knowing it wouldn’t be the last hadn’t let him stop.

He couldn’t, however, tell when the first time had been he had noticed the snake, consciously and willingly so. It must have always been there. The scales had become so familiar, after all, he sometimes couldn’t distinguish them from his own skin anymore.

If Aziraphale could not give him absolution, who would?

“Nowhere, really. It’s just-…it’s just stupid. A stupid thought.”

The hypocrisy of it all, of spitting on their soil in this very bed made the contents of his stomach boil sour.

“Hm…” Aziraphale hesitated to move, lavender lingering delicately on Crowley’s thin neck. “Nothing bothering you is ever stupid enough to make you think you couldn’t share it with me. But yes. It _is_ stupid because you couldn’t disappoint me, not this way.”

It never failed to amaze him how Aziraphale’s love both delivered and strangled him so utterly and wholly.

“Crowley, you aren’t perfect. Neither am I. I won’t ever hold you to that expectation. But at the same time, you are a wonderful person, a wonderfully flawed person, _human_. After all the things that happened to you, you could have chosen to become bitter, hateful, but you didn’t and that’s the thing: You are kind. You choose to be kind in so many ways. And _that_ is the strongest, the best you can do, even if you won’t be able to fully deliver on that decision every time. Even if you can’t see it yourself.”

 _Oh dear, oh so lovely, sweet Aziraphale,_ something hissed in his ear, _blind_.

“Huh…”

“But if it makes you feel better,” Aziraphale went on, planting one quick kiss on the crown of Crowley’s hair, “I’ll acknowledge you as this big bad lawyer person sewing the seeds of discord wherever you go.”

“Now, after all this, it’d only feel insincere of you.”

“What? Me?” Aziraphale gasped playfully indignant. “Everything I do, I do with utmost sincerity!”

“Yeah, sure,” Crowley said dismissively, but both heard the smile shining through.

They went silent, breathing once again, but this time in a calm unisono that could only be conducted by devotion and a setting Summer sun.

  
Crowley sifted the things Aziraphale had said through his mind, again and again, only to find the grains of salt falling out of the well-intended sugar they’ve been hiding in: Aziraphale really didn’t know him. Couldn’t if he was so convinced of his kindness.  
Aziraphale was going to marry a liar, an impostor, a weight chained to his feet and own salvation. If Crowley truly loved him – Heaven above and Hell below, he _did_ \- how could he let this happen to him?  
How could he let himself happen to Aziraphale?

  
It took a tender, prolonged brush, caressing along the sleek curve of his back to make his head drop in relish, in eagerly anticipated distraction.

The sudden shower of goosebumps flushed the snake from his shoulders. It hissed and spat, furiously, but swiftly hid under the bed far out of sight and endearments. Immediate ease rushed through Crowley’s muscles, his mind.

He desperately wanted to believe.

“You look lovely,” Aziraphale hummed, eventually, and every syllable celebrated in sweet euphony that they had been said in a smile.

  
The touch was so pleasant, sending soughing waves of prickling straight through his tired mind and shocking it both awake and paralysed; his head felt pliable and soft, like a balloon filled with warm sand.

Crowley didn’t turn around yet, wordlessly allowing the flower to surf over his back a few times more: It explored the place under his shoulder blades down to the small of his back again. Drew narrowing circles on its warm skin until it reached their centre.

Softly, Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“Can you turn around for me, love?”

Crowley’s body complied before his mind could even process the request, and with every movement, regardless of how little or undeliberate, the scent of lavender oil subtly coating him swirled into the air again.

As he turned his torso, he directly looked into Aziraphale’s eyes and just like the soothing effects of the flower in his hand, they sedated him with their wonder and awe, numbing his pain with the love glistening in then.

Once more, Aziraphale let the stem’s head run over Crowley’s body. This time starting with his long throat, it moved gingerly against Crowley’s bobbing Adam’s apple, rubbing against his quickening pulse and diving into the crook of his neck.

“You’re like a swan. Elegant, so beautiful,” he whispered reverently, thereby setting Crowley’s cheeks on fire. “My love.”

“What exactly are you doing?”

Aziraphale’s expressions stayed composed, devoid of guilt or anything that could distract him from directing the blossoms along Crowley’s prominent collar bone and effectively making Crowley’s hair stand on end.

“Admiring you. God must have had a good day making you.”

Crowley gave his best shot at a nonchalant snort, though it left Aziraphale unfazed of it; the lavender went on, now grazing his sternum and his barely defined chest muscles. Aziraphale’s eyes were on him, unswervingly, no sign of scrutinizing criticism in the slightest.

“Great twink he made. Someone once told me, you’d get a papercut from hugging me.”

“Good thing I’ve read so much I’m basically immune to them.”

Crowley chuckled. “Alright, good thing, then.”

Although Crowley felt particularly aware of himself at this moment, of his own breathing and every bone sticking from the thin skin stretched over them, he straightened his shoulders to give Aziraphale more space to work with.

And that he took: He dragged the stem all over his upper body in leisurely strokes, painting his stomach with lilac love, and even impishly charmed a laugh out of Crowley once its tip vanished in his bellybutton.

Crowley’s heart throbbed, deliciously and painfully curious.

At first, no one made a sound at the flower’s contacts with his nipples, watching them red-cheeked as they hesitantly bloomed against the violet buds.

But as Aziraphale reached the hem of his trousers, sweeping over its dark fabric, over the rectangular belt buckle holding everything together, Crowley felt his tongue stick dry to his teeth. The muscles in his throat contracted and twitched, provoking a quick breathless gulp.

His gaze darted over Aziraphale’s hand to his eyes, flicking back and forth, not without making a devious route over his lips. Questioning him. Inviting him.

Slowly, his own hands found their way to his belt and opened it with stifled deftness; fingers numbed by the mix of caution and seething adrenaline. His efforts were accompanied and encouraged by the clinking of metal and the deep exhale Aziraphale uttered as Crowley drew the leather from the loops. The rosy blush on Aziraphale’s nose had spread over his neck, flushing down parts of his chest his collar only teased.

Crowley kept his gaze steadily on Aziraphale, checking on his breathing, his expressions. They were in this together, and they were able to stop at any time.

Neither of them seemed all too interested in that possibility, though, all eyes suddenly fastened on Crowley’s zipper. Attempting to strip his trousers off as graceful as lying in his abilities, Crowley still only managed to awkwardly shimmy out of his skinny jeans.

Aziraphale did not bother. He marvelled at the skin offered to him, even forgetting about the lavender for a second: Flower stuck between his fingers, he sprawled his hand over Crowley’s knee, testing the waters, and then, his plush hand moulded against the slender leg.

There was no quick wit left in Crowley’s head, nothing cool, nowhere near smooth. Not with Aziraphale looking at him and his bony frame like this; with his eyes softening as if overwhelmed with a colossal masterpiece, with the task of a lifetime to discover every detail. It was just his look and this warm, warm hand on his knee that was always both so soft and appealingly coarse as if he had just spent hours upon hours kneading floury dough, but Crowley felt so deeply touched and _seen_ Aziraphale could have been softly rocking Crowley’s soul in his arms.

“I must be the luckiest man on God’s earth,” Aziraphale locked eyes with him again, smoothing his hand on Crowley’s thigh; shaky yet placidly heavy as it realised it belonged there. “Because I’m allowed to fall in love with you not one but two times.”

The same warm hand came to hold Crowley’s cheek. “Insufferable, you,” he mumbled into it, nuzzling, before oh finally being brought down for a kiss.

Being held so gentle and tight, Crowley barely understood what Aziraphale whispered against his lips as they parted. “I love you,” he said, so close almost humming into him, and Crowley could have sworn he had replied with the same words, only that those had immersed into another kiss.

Carefully, Crowley leaned into him, coaxing Aziraphale to lay down on his back. Blue eyes looked up to him, swimming bright and brilliant in Aziraphale’s blushing face, and stroke him with such awe, he lost all strength in his arms and plummeted onto the broad chest under him.

“Crowley!” Any attempt at admonition was quickly undermined by the laughter rippling through his breath, making Aziraphale’s stomach rise and fall hysterically with his giggling and the weight of Crowley on him. “You tossed the flowers all over the bed!”

“So?” Crowley wasted only one glimpse of their time to his right and chuckled about the basket dangling empty at the edge of the mattress before dipping into another kiss and sending the damned thing completely falling with his vigour. Circling back from sucking in Aziraphale’s plump bottom lip and grazing it gently with his teeth again and again until Aziraphale’s mouth swelled wet and tender against him.

When Crowley stopped unprompted, Aziraphale blinked ponderously at him, opening his pink lips without any words escaping him, dumbfounded, _senseless_ , and staring at Crowley’s tongue in true fashion of someone kissed properly stupid.

“You want me to stop and pick them up again, then, Angel?”

The feigned innocence in his voice didn’t provoke the outcome Crowley’s had in mind (There were only so few things funnier than when Aziraphale testily rolled his eyes at him) but the kiss Aziraphale pulled him into definitely was more, _better_ than what he bargained for.

Fingers woven into auburn strands of hair, Aziraphale moved his lips with newfound eagerness against Crowley’s, exploring him, tasting him and running the risk for Crowley to fall limp and boneless in his arms.

However, the tension in Crowley’s body returned with spraying sparks, buzzing in his chest and throat as if a colony of bees was about to be set free if he’d make one wrong sound: Aziraphale’s other hand glided over the backside of his thighs, shaking faintly once it ran along the curve where long legs became Crowley’s buttocks.

Crowley interrupted the kiss so he could look into his eyes again, smiling, and what followed was an encouraging roll of his hips, shoving Aziraphale’s hand onto him.

The expected shyness, the bashful stutter and gasps, though, failed to appear. Once Crowley had led him, Aziraphale’s other hand softly pulled away from his hair and brushed his butt through the fabric of his black slacks a few times with care, just for his fingers to then grab his cheeks with purposeful strength, gripping so gently but resolutely into his flesh that not only Crowley’s skin was left pulsating, aching deliciously and hungry for more.

Exploration had become intent, and Crowley was impatient to find out what exactly Aziraphale intended to do with him.

From here, things went faster for Crowley’s clouded mind, faster and fervent, both pantingly earnest in their physical yearning for one another. Aziraphale continued to feel up Crowley’s arse, massaging him with his hands large and thick enough to cup him whole. Kneading him into a mewling, light-headed mess that dragged open-mouthed kisses underneath Aziraphale’s jaw, that made Aziraphale shiver when both sharp inhales and warm, urgent breaths dashed against the skin of his throat and his drumming jugular.

Crowley uttered a quick curse when trying to open Aziraphale’s hydra of a shirt. For every opened button, another set of two seemed to appear, and it left him furious and fussy until he could throw the fruits of his victory into a corner of the room. He didn’t even leave Aziraphale any air to voice his disapproval, already peppering wild kisses all over his chest, eager to leave no spot, no matter how small, unkissed, untouched, unfaced, unaffected from his frenzied worship. His lips became the lavender in Aziraphale’s hand, painting him, _seeing_ him.

“You’re gorgeous,” he rasped, unable to kiss to his fill but entirely too stubborn to stop trying. “I want to…to know all of you, love all of it and every last fibre.”

As soon as the words tumbled from his lips, so raw and unfiltered as they had been in his head, he felt like they hadn’t been remotely as romantic as Aziraphale’s, undeserving of the significance of the moment.

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped, though, breaking out in a radiant smile only to be mellowed by the happy whine that escaped him as he ground his hips against Crowley’s pointy pelvic bone. Unmistakably showing what he thought of his trousers still being on. Crowley wouldn’t ever deny him anything, especially a request so titillating.

Aziraphale’s trousers quickly reunited with his tossed shirt on the floor and so did their lips, clashing roughly, with frantic need controlling their every graze. For a second, Crowley’s stomach brushed the cotton of Aziraphale’s underwear, feeling it hot and smearing slightly moist against his bare skin, and his toes curled with the sudden flash of sharp arousal rushing and sparking through his legs.

Without any resistance, his hips fell into the warm and welcoming space Aziraphale’s spread thighs held for him, twitching with the sensation of his half-hard cock rubbing against Aziraphale’s. His blood ran hot in his veins and his head, so dazed with wanting he forgot how to swallow his own spit in his dry throat as he aligned their groins, grinding, huffing fantastically overwhelmed.

“Crowley…!” Aziraphale whimpered, pressing his forehead hard into Crowley’s shoulder to hide his face.

“Are you okay?” Crowley asked with a multitude of emotions clogging his voice, but foremost worry made it scratchy and gravelly. “Is…is this okay?”

“I…I don’t…I’m sorry, I don’t know if I can-…”

“Shush, it’s fine, we can stop anytime.”

“No, I mean-…” he whined, desperate for the right words to leave him but the involuntary buck of his hips that made him rut against Crowley’s thigh beat him to it. He was already so hard in his underwear, tenting dark and needy for any touch as if his cock were reaching out for Crowley. “I don’t know if…if I can go for the whole thing, but…”

“Angel.” Crowley caressed his cheek, letting his thumb brush over the wrinkles next to his nose. “Tell me what you need.”

“Oh…” Aziraphale’s face was flushed with embarrassment and yet, he bent into Crowley’s touch as if being held between his hands were his only true place to be on this planet. “Can you-…please…” Another roll of his hips.

Crowley chuckled breathlessly, tenderly palming him through his slacks. “This?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, glassy-eyed, wreathing blissfully in his grip. “Yes, please, _please_ touch me.”

Not missing a beat, Crowley propped himself onto his side, massaging Aziraphale through the fabric first, choked-up on his own emotions, on the thrill of being unable to see, only feel the outlined impression of Aziraphale’s dick pressing against his palm.  
His fingers crept deftly under the rubber band. Stuffy heat enclosed them as they made their way deeper, as they met him, sliding from the root of his cock, along its thick girth that finally brought that nervous dryness in Crowley’s mouth to a quick end.

Catching his temple for a kiss, Crowley took him in his hand, firm yet gentle, and gave him a few experimental strokes before freeing him from the constraint of his slacks.

Aziraphale moaned at the exposure with the cooled down sea air flowing into the room, for pleasure as Crowley wrapped his hand around him again, picking up speed and beginning to jerk him off in earnest. Throwing back his flushed head, Aziraphale pressed his eyes closed with unnerved tension that only left him as his hand, blindly looking for Crowley’s, came to an adorable little hold onto Crowley’s wrist, seemingly afraid to be fully swept away, and relaxed with found comfort into every shared movement. Relaxing with the feel of an anchor linked to him, a funny thought really, as Crowley would never let him go astray.

“My beautiful Angel,” Crowley whispered into his ear, setting off an avalanche of sweet nothings pattering mindlessly in between soft shushing, kissing. “You’re so gorgeous, doing so unbelievably well, my love.”

“Oh, please, oh…!”

His thumb brushed over the slit of Aziraphale’s cock, collecting the sticky drops of precum beading on it and spreading it with the pumps of his fist over its head. Shuddering breath followed, tentative gasps growing more lustful, unadulterated, turning into a low, guttural groaning that drove Crowley insane with its relish. His desire for Aziraphale was rampaging in his stomach, spreading its sweet, unbridled poison through his entire body; heat tickling from the crimson tips of his ears to the soles of his feet.

Of course, Aziraphale would be vocal. Crowley loved every bit of it.

Crowley rubbed himself against Aziraphale’s plush hip, half-hard in his own boxer shorts that he energetically stripped off with the sudden vigour lit up by the flashes of want and need that stroke him with every deep moan uttered into his ears. Letting his released cock meet Aziraphale’s love handles, dragging and shallowly thrusting along his enthralling softness, skin to skin, sent staggering shivers down his spine.

“Yes, this…oh Crowley, please,” Aziraphale hummed, voluntary captive to his delight and lust, and tapped impulsively around Crowley’s thigh until he found his member that rewarded Aziraphale’s steady grip with a twitch, pulsating yearningly in his hand.

“Fuck…” Crowley’s head was light and blazing, feverish with his urgent need for vicinity. “Sit up, Angel, please.”

If a little confused, Aziraphale followed his request, whining at the loss of Crowley’s hand on him. He sat up and in the course of one heavy gulp, a quick flaring of his nostrils, Crowley leapt into his lap, straddling his thighs with a desperate rocking to move as close as humanly possible.

They clashed for wet open-mouthed kisses beyond any decorum, licking into each other, sharing hard, ragged breaths rasping in synch with the racing rhythms of their hearts.

Both groaned deeply as Crowley began to press their cocks together, holding them between the lithe fingers of one hand, while the other clasped around Aziraphale’s broad shoulder, shoving himself even more into his Angel’s arms.

“Is this okay, dove?” Crowley began stroking them both, nipping, mouthing over Aziraphale’s earlobe. “Is this good for you?”

Aziraphale shivered under the ragged sough whispered into him, almost forgetting to answer.  
“Yes,” he then said, and yes his fingers gripping needily into Crowley’s back said, greedy, desperate handfuls of skin leaving white and red trails on him said. “Yes, yes, oh, please, dear…!”

Maybe, he could not give him absolution, but to Crowley, this was the nearest he would ever be to celestial harmonies or any touch of divine grace; this felt like what Heaven should be like, and Aziraphale was the only person able to give it to him.

Crowley’s hand sped up.

Aziraphale was the first to go. Hard waves of pleasure made him twitch and shiver, dissolving him into a mewling shadow of his usual tension, sweaty and pliable against the curves and edges of Crowley’s fiery body.  
Crowley gritted his teeth, rocking even closer into the touch, chasing his goal, _chasing and chasing_. Mindless, brisk thrusts against his fingers, sticky from heat and Aziraphale’s spurting cum, and still chasing, eyes pressed shut so hard that white flashes of light disturbed the darkness behind them.

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him, held him oh so tight, and finally, Crowley came, muffling a shout in Aziraphale’s chest; a coarse shout and the desperate noises that ensued thrumming against Aziraphale’s pounding heart.

They let themselves fall onto the bed’s headrest, fall onto each other, panting in a sea of squashed lavender and crinkled, sullied satin sheets. Limbs numb with subsiding ecstasy, with love and settling calm, and blessed.

“Are you okay?” Crowley asked once he had caught his breath and propped himself up to allow himself a glimpse at Aziraphale’s face. Of course, he over-indulged right away, the flush, gorgeously blissful and debauched face of his Angel flooding his chest with adoration that practically forced him to plant kisses to the corner of his mouth.

“’Okay’ would be an understatement,” Aziraphale said, smiling contentedly out of dreamy, heavy-lidded eyes. They flickered from Crowley’s besotted gaze to their stomachs, messy from their lovemaking.

“I’m glad.” Crowley nuzzled against his jaw, letting his lips lap lazily over his throat. Satisfied with himself and the entire world, entirely too satisfied to care about anything else. “Main thing’s you’re okay…”

“Was it good for you as well?”

“You’re _so_ good for me,” Crowley replied, hoarse and drunk with love, kneading Aziraphale’s thighs in warm rolls of his palm and making him sigh, relax into the pillows underneath them. “Perfect for me.”

“I love you,” he chuckled until the faint laugh crested, slipped on the cliffs of his raspy cords, and fell into a quiet sob. “I love you so much.”

“Oh Angel, it’s alright, it’s all okay.”

“I’m just-…I’m just so _happy_ ,” he tried to explain but his breath was caught in a hiccup of weak laughter and a wobbling bottom lip. “Nothing remotely physical has made me feel like this in a long time, and I’m simply happy.”  
He cupped Crowley’s face that had come to the rescue to kiss his tears away and kissed his forehead so deeply and wholeheartedly, Crowley felt like it would imprint on his skin forever.  
“It feels like it belongs to me again. To us.”

“It does, Angel,” Crowley rasped, feeling that same sweet bite burning in his eyes, “it does.”

“Letting down your guard is horrifying. Trusting is. Physicality always amplifies that for me, for some reason. It’s so hard to relax when all sex makes me think about are fears. Insecurities, stress.” Lost in thought, he played with the tousled flames on Crowley’s head, twisting them around his fingers. “And toothpaste.”

Crowley snorted tiredly. “Why toothpaste?”

“You see,” Aziraphale began, wiggling for them to find a more comfortable position to rest against and huffing at the flowers cascading to the ground. “Oh really!” he rolled his eyes at Crowley, causing him to break out in a smug grin, and cleared his throat.  
“I was 16 when I had my first boyfriend, secret of course. We both had a lot of siblings, parents lurking about, households always very lively. The only way for us to be intimate, kiss even, was at night, pretending to be asleep. We pulled off a whole show, putting on our pyjamas, saying good night to everyone, brushing our teeth in the open for all to see.” He exhaled in thought.  
“Everything would always taste and smell like mint.”

“Well, I suppose I won’t ever be smelling lavender without getting a hard-on again.”

He had expected another scolding but Aziraphale laughed with this beautiful rosy blush on his cheeks, this lovestruck glimmer in his eyes that Crowley first had believed to only be mirroring his own, but then it struck him with its pure, unconditional tenderness, an Aziraphale je ne sais quoi, and Crowley held his stupid breath.

“So, you’re saying we have to redispose for our wedding?”

“I mean, it’d also offer the opportunity for things to be talked about at the reception since you seemed so worried about that.”

“You’re a menace.”

“Thank you.” Crowley bowed down for a mocking kiss, though he shuddered at the feeling of his own cold spent sticking to Aziraphale’s stomach. “But speaking of getting ready for bed: Let us get you clean and in one of your pyjamas, you poor thing.”

“Hmm, will I be getting some cuddling afterwards?”

“I’ll put it into consideration,” Crowley said, knowing the sun could never rise again and he still wouldn’t let go of him.

They got up, and Crowley rotated his shoulders.

Sighing with how light they felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading ♥ stay tuned for the next one, it'll surely be...something   
> have a nice day and stay healthy!


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